


Mile High Stiles

by AzulMountain



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Hale Fire, Chief Purser!Allison, Exhibitionism, Flight Attendant!Stiles, Laura is dead, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Mentions of Death, Mile High Club, Pack Cuddles, Peter's wife is dead, Pilot!Jackson, Pilot!Scott, Porn With Plot, Survival, Werewolves, aircrash, alternative universe, blizzard, ex-hunter!Allison, rival pack, werewolf kid!Erica, werewolf kid!Isaac, werewolf toddler!Lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzulMountain/pseuds/AzulMountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flight attendant Stiles Stilinkski's day couldn't get any worse when he spots the smoldering gaze of the asshole who assaulted him earlier and claimed he was kidnapping the strawberry blonde toddler. Then the father of the toddler saunters through the plane's front door and says something about his good service a mile high. Really how could things get worse? Rival werewolves and a plane crash are just the beginning of Stiles horrible day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Concourse C

 

 

 

Concourse C

 

The man takes one brief look at his uniform, throws out an arm to catch him in the chest in a breath stopping block, and says, “Here hold this!”

Stiles fumbles awkwardly to get his arm out from under his folded winter coat and the other dislodged from his grip on his wheeling carry-on to catch the toddler the man practically throws at him. The man is already half way up the escalator at a full sprint, before Stiles can collect his thoughts to question the situation.

The little girl gives a surprised hitch of breath, when she realizes she is in the hands of a stranger. Stiles thinks she is about to start crying, but the strawberry blond child just sniffs her nose a few times then settles against his chest and starts to nod off. Great he is going to get her sniffles and he cannot afford to take more time off.

Denver Bronco quarterback Peyton Manning’s voice yells out over the speakers, “You are delaying the departure of the train, please keep clear.”

Stiles jumps into motion, shifting the sleeping child to his side so he can grab his rolling overnight bag and promptly follows the smart train’s warning. The train door closes and departs from the Denver International Airport’s concourse C.

(To give you guys an idea of the concourse interior garden, not my picture it's from a google image search)

 

Stiles walks to the center of the train’s loading floor and looks up to the interior garden terrace situated between the train level and gate level to where mad giggles and screams originate. From his lower vantage he can barely see the heads of darting figures as a blond child dodges her caretakers and rampages through the usually inaccessible garden. Concerned on lookers on all levels, yell in alarm as the child trips on the stone design and she falls to the marble ledge.

Laughing and catching her breath the child rolls to her side to get up and continue her merry game, when she misplaces her foot and begins to fall over the marble ledge. She manages to catch hold and continues giggling, as though it is fun that her tiny body dangles twenty feet above the train level’s hard marble tile floor. She looks down like she is contemplating dropping and people rush to get below her to prepare to catch the child. Before she has a chance to let go, the man that threw his kid into Stiles arms grabs her by one arm and lifts her up. She yelps and squirms, laughing like the big monster caught her and now she’ll be tickled, until she sees who has a hold of her arm and all her fun promptly deflates.

Stiles swears that under the noise of the onlookers clapping and the roar of the train entering the concourse, he hears a low threatening growl come from the man. Judging by the simpering whine from the child and limp downcast gaze, he knows it’s not his imagination. The other caretakers, who had been chasing the blond, appear at the ledge with the man. A young brunet woman takes the errant child from the man’s grasp. The man speaks lowly to her; she looks over her shoulder to the onlookers and finally sees the group of uniformed police and security officers responding to the distress. Stiles hears her swear in embarrassment at the crowd the girl’s stunt attracted. She scrambles over the trampled vines and succulents with the child under her arm and back up the stone walls to a column. She hands the child up to a security guard out of the enclosed garden. The brunette ignores the offered hand of an officer and does an impressive vertical jump and grabs the steel railing and swings herself over the glass.

Stiles watches as the man and young man make the same impressive jump to meet a handful of security guards.  Stiles checks his temporary charge and sees that she is drooling in her sleep all over his shirt. He grumbles about the stain, but figures its part of the job. He just hopes Allison Argent, the Chief Purser, doesn’t get on his ass for his appearance.

He looks to wall clock and is happy to see he has fifteen minutes to get to the pre-flight safety briefing with the other air attendants, pilots, and engineers. First he needs to get this little one back to her father. He awkwardly rolls the carry on while balancing the child's dead weight and heads for the escalator.

As the escalator empties on the floor above his arms become weightless when the child in his arms is taken from him.

“Hey stop!” Stiles yells at the unfamiliar man and the toddler begins to cry, having been shaken roughly in the exchange. The dark haired gruff man all but pushes him back down the escalator. Stiles’ baggage gets caught under his feet in the process and his head slams back into the escalator’s metal casing. The revolving hand grip practically pulls his stunned hurt form up without any effort on his part.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with this child?”

Thankfully the Asshole picks him up off the downward gripping rail by his shirt, otherwise Stiles would have been riding the rail on his back until he eventually tips and falls the rest of the way to the train level. His head is reeling from the crack and the grizzly sex Adonis has a twin holding the double of the toddler he just was holding.

“Shit,” Stiles wobbles trying to keep his feet under him and clear his vision. The asshole actually looks a bit worried for him.

The commotion must have alerted someone else because when Stiles loses his balance, he is caught in the strong hands of another man. The man gently hauls him over to a bench a few feet away. Stiles realizes his rescuer is the tall muscled young man from the garden incident. A loud commotion draws his attention away from the strong man and back to the twins in front of him. He blinks a couple of times taking in the eerie resemblance of the father and the Asshole and realizes, no he is not seeing double, there are two handsome men yelling in front of him.

The slightly older man holds the teary strawberry blonde toddler and the dark haired asshole, who sent him flying into the escalator, clutches the hand of a pre-teen boy. The boy draws his hoody strings closed. Trying to hide his face in embarrassment from all the gawkers watching the circus attraction his family is in public. They are all good looking and great entertainment as their mental behavior continues to catch the eyes of other passengers and authorities, when they start yelling at each other about Stiles role in the situation and shoving each other roughly.  

The father of the toddler points down at him saying something about asking Stiles to hold the princess, while he went to grab the devil. Asshole yells something about coming out of the men's room and finding a stranger carrying the toddler and mistaking the situation as a kidnapping. Three officers stand by their sides waiting to break up a possible fight and to get their story.

The young brunette woman and blond girl wait silently next to the bench by him. The little blonde girl with a bright red bow looks to be about five, grins mischievously as she keeps sniffing at his shoulder. She looks like she is about to take a bite, when a hand smacks the back of her head.

“Erica likes you, watch out,” The smiling young woman says. Stiles looks up to the woman a couple years older than he and notices how similar she looks to the father and the Asshole.

“That’s nice.” Stiles slurs his words a bit, the ache from the goose egg on the back of his head is growing and he feels dizzy just sitting.

An officer crouches down to check his pupils for a concussion and asks him all the standard questions, while another runs his identity badge. The young woman checks the back of his head for bleeding. Her fingers gently rub his short buzzed hair in a soft massage. It feels amazing, like all the pain just melts away. He groans in relief when the hot pain disappears and his head begins to clear. He looks up to find everyone is looking down at him. Stiles blushes at all the attention, though the asshole isn’t looking at him. He’s giving a death glare at the young brunette rubbing his head. The officer preforming the first aid, stands back and declares Stiles fit enough that paramedic’s aren’t necessary.  

The strawberry blond toddler gives a screech and leans over to grab at Stiles, her father doesn’t pay her any attention and just sets her on the ground; he goes back to trying to explain both situations to the officers. The little thing is just learning to walk and slowly makes her way over to the bench. She pulls herself up with strength beyond a toddler and crawls onto Stiles lap. Stiles can feel her soft puff of breath as she yawns sweetly and then nuzzles into his chest with her chubby cheeks and falls back to sleep. He can't help, but cuddle the adorable child.

The blond five year old, Erica, whines out, “No fair I want to cuddle the good smelling huma-“

The hand on the back of his hand zips down to the child’s mouth before she can finish her statement. A muffled growl rumbles out of the petulant terror. The light reflects strangely in her eyes making them look like they glow gold for a moment. Stiles arches his eyebrows at the strange kid, but he figures everyone has their phases and the airport’s artificial light can make things look different.  

A bag of McDonald's is shoved at the child’s face, blocking Stiles from the child’s angry face and successfully distracting the terror’s meltdown. “Happy meal!” Erica screams and plops down on the floor next to her hot pink rolling suitcase and begins to devour the meal.

“Here Isaac,” the tall muscled young man that hauled Stiles to bench says to the boy hiding in his sweatshirt.

The boy at Asshole’s side comes over and hugs the man and says, “Thanks Boyd.” He takes his own meal and goes to sit with the blond terror by the group’s carry-ons.

A flashing security cart rolls over to the bench and Stiles grins when he sees a familiar face riding in the passenger seat. “Thank god, Scott!” Stiles cheers. “Get me out of this nut hole,” Stiles begs.

“I heard your I.D. check over the radio. Dude, did you really try to abduct a kid?” Scott’s big brown eyes are wide in worry.

“No it is all a misunderstanding! Do you really think they would let me hold the baby, if that were true?”

This question catches both the father and Asshole’s attention from across the hall where the officers have moved the conversation away from the busy escalator. The father looks around at the other adults in his party and doesn’t see the strawberry blond in any of their arms. He joins the asshole’s incredulous stare that Stiles is holding the sleeping child. He saunters over to the bench, after excusing himself from the officers, though one still accompanies him to the bench.

“Cora, what is wrong with you? Don’t you think we have intruded enough on Mr. Stilinski’s time. Even after my nephew grievously mistook him as a kidnapper? I am terribly sorry for the confusion, sir. Thank you for watching over my daughter, Lydia.” The man gathers the sleeping toddler from Stiles, and brings her up to his own chest. He sniffs her deeply and her whimpers end at the loss of Stiles chest, and she nuzzles into his neck and blows spit bubbles in her sleep.

‘O.K. weird family that sniffs and growls at each other,’ Stiles thinks.

“Oops sorry about that, she’s teething.” The father says and leans in to inspect Stiles shirt. “May I pay for your cleaning Mr. Stilinski, to make up for this unpleasantness? Anything at all, I can do for you?” The father’s voice slips into a seductive tone.

Stiles looks down to his wet chest to hide the blush growing on his face. Stiles wipes away the cold drool on his shirt and misses the father giving Stiles head a few subtle sniffs. “No that isn’t necessary, it happens all the time on the job.”

Great he is going to have to change his uniform before his shift starts. He looks to his watch and gasps at the time. He has two minutes to get to the gate, before Argent docks his pay for tardiness. ‘Shit, at least I won’t miss anything in the safety meeting, if Scott is here too.’ Stiles proudly admires his childhood best friend. Scott looks sharp in his pilot uniform. He has overcome so much in his young life and deserves the respect of being a professional airman.

“She wasn’t crying and she is exhausted, so don’t get mad at me. It’s not my fault your kid won’t let anyone hold her, but you.” Cora growls out, clearly frustrated with the situation.

This family like so many others has been bumped from one cancelled flight to the next. Heavy ice and blizzards over the middle of country has been a wreck on the travel industry for the last couple days. Stiles should actually be in Sky Harbor, but his crew was switched to a LaGuardia flight instead of sunny Phoenix. Not that he would get to enjoy the sun; he would be on a quick transfer to O’Hare in the morning and be right back into the thick of it. So his winter outfit would hardly get a rest.

“Mr. Stilinski, will you be pressing charges against Mr. Hale?” The police officer asks Stiles, pointing to the grizzly man waiting across the hall surrounded by five officers.

Stiles watches Mr. Hale, aka Asshole, send a hard stare his way at the officer’s question, like he can hear their conversation and judging by his threatening look, not an apologetic or imploring look; he is telling Stiles to answer no.

Cora groans out, “This is why I hate to fly! It always ends like this.”

“Like the father said, it was just a misunderstanding; the Ass- I mean Mr. Hale, was just protecting his family, so there is no need,” Stiles answers the officer.

He stands and is happy he feels no nauseating pain; he’ll need to take some Tylenol, but his bump is nothing that will keep him from missing work. He grabs his rolling suitcase, tucks the handle, and lifts it into the cart. “Safe travels,” He quickly shakes the father’s outstretched hand and jumps into the back rear facing seat.

“Let’s get to the gate Scott, we are already late.”

Scott’s eyes bulge when he looks at the time. “Oh crap, she is going to kill me! I told her I’d be right back with you or your substitute, if you were being arrested.”

“Thanks buddy, good to know I am so easily replaced,” Stiles snarks. The cart lurches in a U-turn and they are off in flashing yellow lights leaving the weird incident behind. Stiles passingly thinks that he is sad that he’ll never get to see that smoking hot stare from Asshole or the tender gaze of the father again.


	2. Toxic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exuberance to see Stiles cannot be contained. Thank you little terror, now Derek gets a chance to touch Stiles, and we get a glimpse of smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow- I am so psyched you guys are excited about the story, thanks for reading it.
> 
> I am editing a finished story of mine right now. Mile High Stiles I have three chapters written right now. I am writing a chapter then posting so it may be a bit slower on updates. Enjoy! AzulMountain

Stiles plastered smile twinges his cheeks as he greets passenger after passenger and assists with all the hectic particulars of boarding the airplane. Finished settling a heavily pregnant woman, he walks up the crowded aisle to where Scott stands at the cockpit door.

His friend wears a moping pout on his face. Usually, “Captain Scott” is goofing around with all the children that rush up to see him. Cheery Scott jokes around making airplane sounds, showing off all his shiny metals from his service in the air force, and passes out pilot wing stickers that say “little pilot in training” for all the dreamers, but not today. He only has puppy eyes for Allison Argent as she ushers people past. The woman conspicuously slaps Scott’s chest and hisses at him to smile and like the puppy on the end of a leash, he quickly falls into line; happily greeting the children waiting to see a real pilot.

The co-pilot Jackson Whitmore grins smugly at the rival suitor from the open cockpit. Too cocky and cool to stoop to making children happy, Captain Whitmore just stands there checking out all the young mother’s as they corral their kids onto the plane. Judging by the flushed fanning going on and female passengers conspicuously leaning into the aisle to get another look, they love it. He’s dreamy eye candy for the boring hours ahead and surely some male passengers will be fantasizing ripping the uniform off his chiseled body.

Captain “Jackass” Whitmore, Stiles preferred tittle for the douche, scored major points today backing the Chief Pursuer, Alison Argent, in her reprimand of Flight Attendant Stiles Stilinski. Captain McCall had argued that even the police had found the passenger at fault and Stiles was merely a victim of unfortunate timing. Allison had yelled at Scott to get off the bro-train and be professional about his job. On the rare occasion Stiles and Allison get to work with Scott, Allison is always very clear about keeping their private relationship separate from work and this included Stiles, as the kicked puppy’s best friend and her minion. She as his manager is free to rebuke as she sees fit.

Time is the center of today’s argument; Argent is firm on her stance of punctuality. Stiles wasn’t docked pay or written up for tardiness today, thank god, but he was on official warning thanks to the asshole and his family. Allison even got on his case for a dirty uniform. When Stiles raised his voice and blamed it on a baby, the head flight attendant rolled her ice dagger eyes and told him to change immediately.

Stiles grits his teeth, watching Argent lead another family with small children to their seats. Behind the perfect welcoming facade, the beauty hides an evil ice queen set on pulling every ounce of humanity from her staff. He can’t fathom how a woman so good at understanding and dealing with passenger’s problems, can possibly be so cold to his own. He feels disrespected for having a life outside of this sardine can, when she knows he is damn good at his job and he’d like to say they have become friends, more than association by best friend’s girlfriend. Hell, Stiles spends more time with Allison than Scott these past few months their schedules have been out of sync.

Allison, the assiduous bitch, manages her crew like a tight machine; so in those moments Stiles needs personal moment to collect his self, she just scowls and tells not on her time. He is always professional, even when his life is in chaos; his mother passed away last year and his father was shot last month; Stiles took two full weeks of time off to help the Sheriff recuperate from the lower leg injury. Even with a stringent overlord, Stiles has never had a better work team. He likes Argent as a leader, but she could show a little understanding like she does off the clock. Scott has worked wonders on softening her hardened armor. She genuinely smiles these days and when she is not pissed with her boyfriend, and she even jokes with the crew.

Three years ago when he was a smart mouthed newbie and she was newly promoted, he would say he hated her. He is lucky she recognized how amazing Stiles is at handling difficult situations strategically; how his clown nature can diffuse almost any conflict because he was headed for a pink slip after only two short months. Now they are comfortable with their clashing personalities and use their weakness to an advantage. They are one of the most successful teams in the industry in terms of efficiency and safety.  But the instant someone crosses the planes threshold thirty seconds too late, then the ice queen is back. Do not be late or she’ll launch ice arrows at your ass, friend or foe.

A familiar scream echoes down the tunnel and only a second later, Stiles in knocked to the floor by the blonde terror. The insane strength of the five-year-old’s leap sends Stiles bruised head in contact with the cockpit’s door. ‘No way, life is not fair.’ Stiles whines and his headache returns to full throttle.

Through teary eyes he catches the dark smoldering eyes of the Asshole appearing around the corner of the tunnel. The handsome man’s furious gaze turns to shock as he sees the little blond terror is practically rolling like a dog on the downed man. The hot jerk ducks into the plane’s front exit and lifts the little girl, Erica, off his chest. The awful moment is complete with a shredding sound of his uniform being torn by the little girl’s fingers griping him in protest of losing contact.

‘God she needs her nails cut,’ Stiles thinks as the sharp sting of puncture wounds on his chest bead little droplets of blood.

“Oopsies!” The high pitched squeal is a brass band against the percussion of his throbbing head. The grizzly younger Mr. Hale actually growls at the kid for the moon crescent cuts adorning Stiles’ flat stomach and Erica mumbles a quick apology in her fear.

“Your new girlfriend, Stilinski?” Captain Jackass asks. The death stare from the Asshole, shuts the bastard up and he mumbles something about need to check his instruments and disappears into the cockpit. Scott laughs at the co-pilot and gives a hand to Stiles to help his friend up.

Stiles is shocked when Asshole knocks Scott’s hand away and offers his own.

“Thanks for the chivalry, but I don’t take offers from mean people that don’t know how to apologize.”

He tries to watch his mouth at work, little ears abound. Stiles carefully rises to a sit and has to lean his head between his legs to keep from passing out. A hand grabs his and helps steady him. Just like before the mysterious touch of this strange family zaps the pain away. He looks down to the man’s hand and swears he sees black lines pulsing like veins in his hand, but the second Stiles tries to trace the dark cord with a finger, the man breaks contact with his skin.

Stiles blinks his eyes a few times, glad he is no longer seeing black spots, but now his body is floating with the heat left behind from this Hale’s touch. There was no intense reaction like this before when the Hale, Cora, magic touched his pain away just relief. He quickly stands up, but immediately drops to a crouch to hide his hardened semi that is tenting in his silk pants. Stiles groans in mortification, trying for a pained sound, but failing when it sounds more like a frustrated lover. If he weren’t at work in the middle of a plane, he would excuse himself to go touch himself in the restroom; riding the blissful waves of heat from Derek’s imagined hands until he burst in orgasmic elation all over his already ruined uniform.

He freezes his errant desires when he realizes that he is freaking standing in front of a child, who is giving him a curious look and sniffing the air. ‘Holy Shit!’ This is not him; he hasn’t ever felt this horny for any person in his life and never has he allowed this type explicit of thought to run rampant at work. Stiles reels in his wild fantasies and thinks the most disturbing thought he can to rid himself of his little problem.

Of course his scarily detailed imagination comes up with his hairy spastic old high school lacrosse coach dancing in an electric blue stewardess uniform and singing Britney Spears “Toxic.” Maybe his imagination overdoes things by a lot because not only does his semi wilt instantly, it feels like his balls retract into his body in fear. He shudders and breaks out in cold sweat and goose bumps at the horrifying thought.

Stiles abrupt change in mood has the younger Hale drawing back in shock from his unconscious lean to get closer to Stiles. The rugged predator leer evaporates into blank confusion and he meets Stiles’ eyes in question and a blush of red adorns both their faces as they caught in the moment. The fast inhale from Erica sends both men out of their stalemate. The man covers the blonde’s mouth before whatever embarrassing question was about to be asked.

“That was an apology,” the dark haired Mr. Hale/Asshole, hisses huskily through his teeth, then softens his voice and breathes heavily like he just ran a half marathon. His gruff mumble of, “I am sorry for hitting you on the escalator,” is barely heard over the screaming of a toddler appearing in the doorway angrily squirming in her father’s arms.

“Did you catch the little… Ah what a pleasure, Derek, we get to enjoy the company of our newest friend. All our comforts soothed by Steward Stilinski a mile high.”

“Get with the times Uncle Peter, they are called flight attendants now and it’s you two that should be soothing his rattled brain from all the abuse Derek and Erica have given the poor guy today.” Cora appears behind the man, pushing Isaac from behind, who reluctantly crosses the threshold between the jetbridge to the plane.

Isaac’s hands, like the screaming toddler, cover his ears against the roar of the engine and pressure difference. Isaac smiles brightly when he sees Scott in his Captain regalia. His eyes grow wide at the black and gold aviation hat.

Scott smiles and takes off his hat and hands it to the kid to get a closer look. Scott doesn’t even wear the thing except for the ten minutes Allison makes him stand there on each connection and greet the small children that board the plane first, then he puts on his favorite baseball cap and tosses the relic into his bag.

“That sounds like a wonderful plan Cora. I’ll gladly soothe the young man’s,” Peter scents the air and continues, “ _hard_ ships away.”  Peter lecherously adds, though the effect is hampered by the screaming child in his arms. He looks between the flight attendant and his nephews and frowns, “Too late this time, Derek seems to have beat me to it and scared the poor thing. I’ll protect you my dove. Let me show you how a real man apologizes.” Peter winks at the stunned flight attendant. Scott growls at the older man from the cockpit door. Peter gives the captain a glance and turns back to the blushing flight attendant. “Tell me Mr. Stilinski have you ever been to the Mile High Club?”

“Knock it off Peter and find your seat,” Derek growls at his uncle.

“Gross you codger, I don’t want to hear you trying to pick up a man younger than me! Stop embarrassing yourself Uncle, you’re going to get arrested if you keep harassing Stilinski.” Cora whispers loud enough for everyone standing around the cockpit door to hear over the jet engines.

“These are the people from earlier?” Scott asks Stiles. At his friend’s nod, “Is there going to a problem here gentleman? I am sure the other half of the airport’s security is dying to meet the Hales after the last two incidents.”

The entire party quickly shakes their heads in the negative, save Derek and Peter, who are sizing up the captain and then each other as rivals for the same honey eyed prey. Eventually they come to their senses, growing pail at the thought of TSA officers getting their dirty hands on them, and each growl out a “No, Sir” to the uneven jawed pilot, who waits with the on board phone ready to dial security.

Stiles eye twitches; he has no patience for passengers who think his job is to service their every need like a stewardess in a porno. He grumbles and really doesn’t want to offer to find the older Hale’s seat, due to the blatant innuendo that will surely follow the question even with Scott’s warning, but he has a job to do. So he carefully composes the offer, to negate any suggestive meaning Peter might take advantage of, “May I assist you to your seat, Sir?”

“No!” Derek yells out before his uncle can answer. “Figure it out Peter and get Lydia settled with Cora and Boyd. I’ll manage Erica and Isaac.” Derek snatches the pilot’s hat from Isaac and hands it back to Scott. Isaac looks ready to protest, but Derek’s glare is enough to shut him up.

Erica wiggles in Derek’s trying to claw her way to Stiles, “Derek don’t you think he smells good? He smelled so happy, and then he got scared. Why? Were you being mean to him? He is my human, you better be nice!”

“Enough Erica,” Peter growls at the feisty child. Lydia arches towards Stiles, like earlier, babbling about mama and making grabby hands for the man to hold her. Stiles would normally jump at the chance to quiet a noisy kid to soothe the kid’s and the other passengers’ nerves, but the look Derek gives him tells him to stay put.

Something softens in Derek’s glare and he mouths a quick, “Thank you” at Stiles, before he turns away passing a car seat to Boyd and rolling a tiny pink carry on behind him. Maybe it’s Derek’s, but it’s probably one of the girls. Stile watches the broad shouldered man in leather jacket and tight jeans begin to walk toward their seats, until Scott knocks his side with a smirk for catching his friend check out the man.

The line of regular passengers waiting to board the plane shuffles forward and Stiles plasters his smile back on. Stiles turns to usher a gentleman to his first class seat, but he stumbles into Derek Hale’s back resting a hand on his tight ass when the man abruptly stops in the aisle.  Stiles apologizes awkwardly, but Hale doesn’t even acknowledges him.

When the tight muscles of the man’s back stiffen, Stiles looks around for quickly for the disturbance.  The crying toddler quiets immediately, sensing the tension in the group. Stiles follows the direction of their gazes to the second aisle where Allison Argent just popped back to the first class/business section of the plane. Allison’s gorgeous smile falls when she notices the quiet atmosphere and instantly she is on guard. The ice queen is back and she is staring straight at the Hales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is funny how moments in life just seem to happen... I was trying to think of a sexy pop song to make Coach Finstock sing for Stiles' little problem. At first I thought how freaky it would be to make him sing Marilyn Monroe's "Happy Birthday" to President Kennedy, but nah. Too scary. Since pop really isn't usually my listening choice, I had to think... then the song "Toxic" by Brittany Spears just popped into my head and I looked it up on youtube, and joyful freaked. You should have heard my evil cackle. How fucking perfect! The music video is all about sex on an airplane and Brittany plays a stewardess. That outfit is what Finstock would wear. Hehehe. That's the stuff of nightmares. Kidding, Bobby's cool, I like the character on the show.
> 
> What song would you guys make Finstock sing?


	3. Scars and Sandwiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ice queen Allison Argent has a dark past with the Hales and Stiles is smart enough to leave it alone. He has his own problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Wahoo, new season! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.
> 
> /sorry to the readers who read this when I posted earlier to today before 6:30 Eastern, sloppy editing and there probably still are mistakes. meh. Hopefully it's better.

 

Allison Argent, ex hunter commander of the Argent line, is caught between worlds as she sees the very faces of her past come back to haunt her. The reason she gave up the hunter life at a young age of twenty-two, stands one aisle away. Well twenty-two is practically middle age in that line of work, but she never had a reason to question the shortened life span under the tutelage of her aunt, Kate Argent. That was true, until their hunting family crossed paths with the Hales.

She never realized how deep her aunt tore into her psyche, until she was standing outside the burning house of the Hale family. Innocent human and werewolf screams rendered her brainwashed mind a blended concoction of toxic memories and personas; cloyingly sweet with all the blood she had on her hands. Stress and guilt from years of gruesome killing blocked by her mind to protect the young woman from her conscious, just simply cracked like a dam overwhelming the huntress. Until Allison stood there not as a hunter, but the soft hearted teen her father once cherished, in the midst of a horror movie without a clue to as what was happening. Free from the careful molding her grandfather and aunt had so painfully instilled with years of abuse disguised as training, the hunter’s glorious victory over the Hales was revealed to be what it truly was, a massacre.

Crying, the soft hearted teen picked up the costly, but invaluable, skills from her battle maiden persona and vowed to right her wrong. The young woman’s split soul healed with every bursting step she took to toward the burning house.

She doesn’t remember much about tearing apart the bolted wood doors, shredding her hands in the process, until she managed to open one of the cellar doors. She does recall the stench of burning her own flesh on the hot iron bars, as she tried to bend the bars to enter the basement. Finally she gave up on her useless bloody hands and used her long rifle like a lever to pry a hole wide enough to squeeze through the bent bars. Weaponless and at the mercy of the frightened werewolves that she helped trapped in the house, she ran with a clear conscious to the ash line. Whether in life or death, Allison Argent renounced her life as a hunter to the wolves and broke the barrier. Her silent prayer to live was strangled, when she was swept up by the alpha Talia Hale and held by the throat, while the rest of the family escaped the smoke and fire.

Gun shots immediately started as the hunters noticed the breach. The alpha held the young Argent to her breast like a shield, crossed the useless barrier, and burst out of the cellar to help her threatened family. Allison cried at the sight of Hale bodies littered on the ground. Most were the human members of the pack, shot in their attempt to reach the cover of the woods. When Kate Argent and her grandfather rounded the fiery structure, they took one look at Allison as a hostage, and unleashed a fury of gunshots on the lone alpha.  Alpha Hale’s hatred for the hunter’s ability to turn on even their own heiress prompted the werewolf to spare the girl’s life, even though the little hunter was partially at fault for her family’s turmoil. She tossed Allison to the side and took each bullet that would have shredded the human to pieces. In a berserker state of revenge, Talia never felt the gunshots; she charged forward with great strength and took the heads of both Argents in one bounding leap.

After that the werewolves promptly picked off all the hunters scrambling in the chaos. Allison did not listen to the screams of the men she worked closely with for the last four years, even though she could identify each individual’s cry of death, she just pressed her hand over the seeping bullet wound of the injured Hale she was trying to help stay alive.

When the wolves returned and saw the Argent singing softly to soothe their injured family member they growled, but left to collect their fallen. Talia’s dying breath was spent sparing Allison Argent’s life. When Laura Hale’s red eyes turned to her in hatred, Allison never broke the cadence of the soft melody she sung to the hurt woman. Peter Hale knelled by her side and began sucking the pain away from his wife’s body. He never said anything to the girl in the half-hour it took to stabilize the woman. Of the twenty-two strong pack, only twelve lived through the night.

Peter Hale walked her off the territory; no other could face their destroyer/savior. In the cold night, she remembers the howls of the pack grieving. With conviction she meet Peter’s Hale’s eyes and declared, as head of the Argent family, that the four-hundred-year-old hunter’s line was dead and no Argent would ever hunt again under the name. Her promise was sealed in an eerie timbre of calls and the flash of yellow in werewolf’s eyes. She turned a walked past the Argent’s hidden vehicles and left the county on foot and never returned.

…

The calamity of her past reflects in each glowing eye glaring warily at her from across the airplane’s middle row. She shivers not in fear of the werewolves, but of the ruthless techniques that automatically pop into her brain from her training on how best to deal with the situation. All of them are violent and do not match the morals she has vowed to uphold in the six years since she buried her hunter persona. Slowly lifting her arms, she rolls her hands out to reveal the scared red surface of her palms in a gesture of peace. She lifts her head and meets the gaze of Peter Hale like she did years ago and projects a calm, clear conscious knowing that she has done all she can to redeem herself. She means their family no harm; Peter’s eyes flash gold once and he nods recognizing her oath and sincerity. He gestures for everyone to move ahead, but he pack remains motionless. A single growl, barely heard over the jet engine, causes Allison to turn her head from Peter’s to the source. Derek’s red eyes flash once in warning, his cold hard stare not as forgiving as Peter’s, and then the man turns his back on the woman. The rest of the Hale family turns at their alpha’s dismissal of the treat. They shuffle down the crowded plane aisle to find their seats. Allison blinks, sways back to rest against the restroom door, and wonders what happened to Laura Hale.

oxOoOoOoOoOxo

Over the small service cart Stiles watches Allison work with efficient grace. She organizes small liquor bottles and wine glasses, while he arranges baskets of overpriced snacks. Her movement is unhindered by the turbulence, much to his dismay. He grumbles under his breath for not being born with grace. Instead, he is plagued with the Stilinski Curse, a terrible affliction that causes excessive clumsiness. He cringes at the memory of his awkward teenage years when his exuberant energy led to all sorts of disasters. He grew out of the worst of it. However, his calm collected professional demeanor shatters when the air turbulence is really bad like today. He is all newborn fawn and a major goof in this shaking metal tube. Too clumsy to be trusted with hot beverages anywhere near customer’s laps, Allison promptly took over drink detail (at Scott’s unnecessary warning) and now he’s in charge of safely packaged items that won’t scald or puncture flesh; negating any possible injuries or lawsuits, and keeping their stellar reputation for impeccable service.

A rough patch knocks him into the galley’s sink and he fumbles spilling a basket of snacks. He steps on a bag of pita chips making a loud pop that scares a few people seated nearby. Leaning out the curtain he apologizes, trying to calm the flyers’ nerves. “No, it wasn’t mechanical just accidental. The chip bomb has been safely detonated,” he laughs. The horror on the passengers’ faces makes Stiles rub his hand over his face; his bomb jokes never go well inflight.

The anticipated turbulence has him off balance again and stepping out of the curtained galley into the aisle. He reaches out to balance himself and his hand lands on a hard warm chest. Before Stiles can look over and apologize, the shaking sardine can rolls again and his hand slips down the solid body until he is supporting himself on his knees with one hand gripping the person’s belt and the other hand is flat to the…Stiles rubs just slightly, to be absolutely sure and the answering deep gasp assures the flight attendant that yes, he is correct… man’s package, with his turned head just inches from the man’s zipper. It takes the young man a moment for his brain to catch up with his hand’s reverent fondle of the well-endowed hardness that twitches in interest under his palm to react to his accidental groping. Backing wildly away from the potential sexual harassment lawsuit, Stiles voice de-ages to his early puberty days (just to add to his growing mortification) and with a broken pitch he screams, “I am so sorry!”

Stiles is grateful when the man grabs his arm, before he can slam his head a third time that day into the mid-cabin’s restroom door. ‘Oh my god, I am such an idiot,’ Stiles whines out in his head, finally lifting his head to face the music to identify the man who will no doubt be suing him in court. Instead, Stiles finds the amused lusty smirk of Derek Hale. Stiles panics from the raw sexual prowess the man exudes in his gaze alone not to mention the fit man’s body. He literally does the crab walk down the narrow aisle to escape from the prowling beast's saunter, as Derek follows after him.

In his haste to retreat, Stiles doesn’t realize that he backs himself into the spread legs of another passenger using the aisle’s free space to stretch, and yelps when strong arms clasp tight to his middle. They pull him off the floor into the seated person’s lap. Quickly squirming forward, Stiles is forced back to the stranger’s chest with a huff. A man’s strong hand brushes teasingly up his thigh. ‘Oh hell no, I did not come to work on a porno set today!’ Stiles thinks as he grabs the man’s hand to stop the offending touch from tracing his silk pant clad leg any higher. When Stiles turns to demand the man let him go, a shocked gasp of “Peter!” falls out of his mouth instead.

“Stiles, I do enjoy watching you work  _hard_. How about I reward you for such excellent service?” Peter growls lowly in his ear and licks the outer shell with his hot wet tongue.

Stiles shivers at the effect of the man’s husky voice has on his body. He squirms again in Peter’s tight hold, inadvertently grinding his ass into Peter’s growing hardness, making his overstepping captor growl low in a pleased moan. Derek standing a pace away, frowns at his uncle’s enjoyment of his snatched prey and growls in jealousy. He must decide to fulfill his own desires and share because he leans over the aisle seat trapping Stiles between the two Hales and runs his nose under his jaw. Stiles’ breath hitches and he can barely mute his groan from the sensation Derek causes when he leaves his own wet trail of saliva on his neck and along his jaw. Derek’s ministrations opposite Peter’s send his once protesting mind into lust and need. Thanking the heavens, the flight attendant is relieved to see Peter’s seatmate is napping and not watching this perverse public display. The rest of the seats in the row are blocked by Derek’s body in the low lit plane. Whatever movie the people are watching is so engrossing, no one notices the exhibition that will surely lead to his dismissal.

The double bong of the lit seat belt sign, which alerts passengers to remain seated, is his saving grace and robbery of the men’s attention. The crackly voice of Captain McCall over the Public Address System asks crewmembers to assist with securing the cabin. This has a very flushed Stiles jumping out of Peter’s lap, before Argent can catch her minion as the meat in a very persistent Hale sandwich. Stiles doesn’t even turn back to witness the twin growls coming from the interrupted men at the loss of their tasty filling and the very disbelieving faces of Cora, Boyd, and Isaac watching their alpha and first beta fondle the poor human.

Argent looks up to Stiles beet red face, but doesn’t even ask as she relates the cockpit orders over the phone to the crewman. He shuffle walks, hidding his semi, as collected as he can be to the front of the plane. He narrates huskily over the PA reminding the passengers about the safety precautions in the event of the unlikely crash or loss in cabin pressure. He is dying of embarrassment because his voice has never drawn so much attention. Peter and Derek, surely are smirking at the sound of his voice. He demonstrates the brace position, happy to hide his red face from his audience (so what if he reamins tucked for a long moment, he needs the time to get the image of Finstock back again. Though he uneasy at the idea that he is thinking of his old coach way too much). Gradually his heart beat is calm enough to work. He secures his side of the plane to ensure that every passenger is seated with their belt correctly in place, all lose items are stored, all trays are secured, and seats/arm rests are upright.

Co-Captain Whitmore’s voice cuts in, announcing to the plane that their adjusted flight plan will carry them further north to avoid the rough air currents and that they can expect an extra hour delay to the arrival time. Groans clamber all across the pressurized metal tube and Stiles jumps on the PA to thank the angry passengers for their patience because Captain Jackass clearly sucks at customer service.

Stiles makes his way toward Peter Hale’s seat avoiding the smoldering stare as the man watches his every move. ‘The jerk, doesn’t even consider I could have lost my job a moment ago.’ When the shock wore off, the burn of shame and embarrassment overruled the passionate heat he felt from the men’s caresses. He is angrier at himself, than the Hales, for letting things get that far. Stiles is serious about his work and won’t let things cross that line again.

When he reaches the older man’s row and can no longer avoid the jerk’s blatant disregard for Stiles’ request that passengers comply with safety, Stiles kind of losses it. He growls into Peter’s ear to hurry the fuck up and store his tray in the upright position.

“I’m all ready and in the upright position, all I need is your assistance.” The jerk is definitely not talking about the light grey tray. Stiles follows Peter’s leer down to his clothed lap where bulge of his erect cock is clearly visible in his tight jeans. Stiles almost chokes on the gush of saliva from the erotic sight, at the same time his eye is twitching in irritation. It takes everything in his control to remember his promise only a moment ago, not to cross the line again with this man or his nephew. Instead of going down on the man like his mouth desires, Stiles stands and fakes an unamused glare.

When Peter, who just waits patiently for Stiles dick to win the war with his brain, still does nothing to comply, Stiles reaches up to open the overhead bin and riffles around a bit pillow. He smacks away the older man’s outstretched hand that tries to caress the thin expanse of skin that shows as his non-compliant dark blue sweater as it rides up. After the Hale girls ruined both of his uniform tops, the sweater was the only article of clothing close to the airline’s colors that Stiles had on hand to change into. Pissed off and no longer in the mood for the man’s blatant disregard for public decency, let alone his job, Stiles expertly stores the tray and slams the pillow onto Peter’s lap, crushing his erection with bruising force and making the man whine in pain.

“If you would like any more assistance, be sure to call my associate. I am sure the ice queen would be happy to help you with your tray problem, permanently.” Stiles fastens Peter’s seat belt viciously over the bulge and pillow, earning another squeaky whine just to make his point clear.

Stiles continues with the cabin check. Erika’s own whine for a pillow is met with a hush from the Stiles other problem passenger, Derek, who thankfully is too embarrassed with his uncle’s behavior to meet Stiles’ glare. Derek quickly uprights his own seat and fastens his unbuckled seatbelt without Stiles having to do so. None of the other adults in the Hale party are looking anywhere near him and Stiles tries not to blush from their consciousness of the inappropriate Hale/Stilinski behavior; focusing instead on his job.

Stiles prays this flight doesn’t get any worse. The plane drops a little and the sound of retching and liquid splashing already shatters that chance. Plastering on his understanding and compassionate face, flight attendant Stiles Stilinski goes to clean the mess up.


	4. Spring Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love! Let me know what you think, I'm always open to criticism or comments.
> 
> Sorry for the wait. I just finished up a couple of stories and really needed a break! If you are interested in reading a Hale/Stilinski sandwich, I just finished Glass Bottom Boat (please read the tags!) and don't worry this story's romance wont be so non-con. Updates should be quicker from here on out. ~AzulMountain

One chime and an amber light, Stiles groans and slips off his chest belt from his jump seat to answer the call from one of the toilets for his assistance. It happens to be one of the least appealing aspects of his job because he never knows what to expect in the close confines of the lavatory. He hopes it’s just a request for more toilet paper. At least it is one step above dealing with three gongs for a toilet smoke detector being activated; idiot smokers.

The hassled flight attendant carefully leans through the jerking turbulence and pokes his head around the corner of the auxiliary crew station. Indeed the primary suspect’s seat is empty and he growls in frustration that his spectacularly terrible day continues to get worse. The seatbelt light is clearly lit; no one should be in the bathroom. He swears that if Peter is trying any funny business, he will tell Peter all about the thriller he’s trying to read, _Into Thin Air_ , from an open emergency door and push the man out to experience the exhilaration for himself.

Allison Argent rolls her eyes from the opposing exit’s jump seat on the Boeing 767 and drops the Disney princess face and smirks evilly, “Do your job Stilinski.”

“Please Allison,” Stiles begs, but knows it will get him nowhere.

After his erotic safety message warning the passengers of heavy turbulence, the crewman was summoned by the high to low chime with a red light to the cockpit. Captain McCall was grinning madly and Captain Jackass promptly asked what the hell that had been about. The jerk was just about to make the announcement to the whole plane that Stiles finally grew a pair and that a lucky lady onboard today joined the coveted mile high club, when Stiles may or may not have punched the co-pilot responsible for the lives of 187 passengers and 5 crewmen, hard in the arm. The dipping decent from the controls being knocked and quick correction by Scott really put things in perspective, no retribution in the cockpit. He blamed his misbalance and fist striking the airmen on the turbulence, but they all knew it was no accident. Swallowing his pride, Stiles quickly apologized to the bastard, asking what he could do to make it up to him. Gods the douche could charge him with assault or worse; he could say Stiles’ attack was trying to take down the aircraft. Even though they all knew that was not his intention, he had made a major mistake and endangered all their lives.

Silence from the shock in the room had turned to hellish glee when the co-pilot realized the power he had over Stiles. Jackson reached toward him and Stiles remained still, expecting a deserving punch to the face, instead the co-pilot traced his lips with his thumb and told him they would discuss his payment after they landed in LaGuardia. Shivering from the sadistic look from the co-captain, Stiles nodded and quickly left. Scott was shouting at him to come back, that it was all an accident, but Stiles ran from the cockpit.

Jumping into the chemical cloud in the lavatory, he sucked down the toxic Spring Rain air freshener to calm his anger down in private. He was pissed at himself for allowing Jackson to get to him, for allowing the Hale men to get to him. The only good thing about the incident was it distracted the crewmen from his husky announcement and he didn’t have to share the naughty details with his friend and consequently everyone in the tiny room. Jackson and the on board engineer, Clark, would have had a good laugh at his expense, when they learned not one but two people deserved the honor.

It took a few minutes, the ice queen must have been busy with another passenger, but Argent eventually knocked on the door. When he didn’t answer, she used her emergency key and opened the locked door and told him to ship up or she’d throw him off the plane. He grudgingly left his artificial Spring Rain with a metaphoric thunder cloud over his head. The gentile rain had turned torrential as the seat bound Hales became more and more irritating.

The single tone and blue light alerting the crewman of a passenger needing assistance from his or her seat is was like a lightning and thunder to his cloudy mood. The frazzled flight attendant has been up and about constantly, since Allison won’t go near the Hales and they respond with equal dislike. The other passengers have long lost their amused looks and now look pityingly on the flight attendant as he storms up the aisle.

One Hale after another had beckoned and not always with the intent to get in his pants. Erica thinks it’s her personal friend button because every time he answers the Hale Light, his new term for passenger personal seat alert, she starts in on the most random things and never has a request, only a story that runs on and on. Stiles gives Derek the evil eye, but the man is just as enthusiastic to let the little girl abuse the summoning button just to be close to him. Isaac pushes the button and shyly shares his person best score for his Fruit Ninja game. Stiles annoyance melts as he watches the kid absorb his praise. That the flight attendant’s encouragement means so much to the kid is a little shocking, but Stiles gives his fellow gamer a genuine smile and rattles off a few hints for Isaac to try.

Cora on the other hand deserves his annoyance, when she constantly asks his opinion for various items available to purchase in the Sky Mart catalogue. “Do you even play golf?” Stiles asked with a growl, after she asked if the laser range viewer would help with her homerun. He walked away when she shook her head in embarrassment.

Peter thankfully had been more mature about the purpose of the button, asking for Lydia’s prepared soup to be heated or to ask for a replacement for his broken head set. After the second malfunctioning set and butt pat, Stiles had caught on and left the man to fend for himself.

Curious and too clever for her age, Lydia learned from her aunt that the little button on the arm rest brings her favorite flight attendant. The cabin was filled with the repeated chime as the toddler constantly pushed the button. When nothing discouraged the stubborn strawberry blonde from not touching the button, even when Cora was playing goalie, Stiles resorted to disabling the call button with wire cutters. When that method no longer worked for Lydia, she just used her lungs until the man reluctantly took the fussy toddler and she got her prime nap spot. The legitimate complaints from non-Hale passengers were met with coos for the gorgeous child sleeping in his arms and thankfully her angelic presence toned down their anger about the Hale’s ruckus.

Cute and gentile as the princess was, nothing toned down the complaints about the wild child, Erica. Derek just nodded stupidly when Stiles relayed the message that Erica was kicking people’s seats and running down the aisle. Seeing Derek was not paying any attention, Stiles leaned over and whispered deeply in his ear. “Mr. Hale if you don’t stop trying to undress me with your eyes and using me as your personal slave,” Stiles watched as Derek’s eyes went cross eyed, his threat clearly having the wrong affect, “I will have you arrested for harassment.” Something was registering with the word ‘arrest’ and it wasn’t the man’s conscious measuring the repercussions of Stiles intended words rather it was the twitching bulge in the man’s lap. Derek made a grunting noise and his face flushed, Stiles somehow knew the man was picturing Stiles as a kinky cop and Derek the handcuffed detainee in the man’s little fantasy.  

Stiles huffed out an exasperated sigh in Derek’s ear and the hot breath had Derek choking. Stiles was actually a little proud that his mere whisper could make such a handsome man go haywire and not at all sorry about the destruction because of it. Two loud cracks from the stressed plastic panel under the man’s white knuckle grip on the arm rests, the only thing preventing the man from reaching up and grabbing the tease, caught the attention of several commuters. Stiles realized he needed to cool things down. “Control your family or this will be your last flight.” To punctuate his order he poured the ice water Derek had requested, in the man’s lap. That shocked the man out of his naughty day dream and he begrudgingly nodded.

Unfortunately, Stiles didn’t realize seeing the damp material cling to the outlines of the man’s cock would distract him from his admonishment of Derek. Derek’s large wet hand from trying to flick the icy water off his lap reached up and slid under his jaw, closing the flight attendant gaping mouth from the jaw dropping sight with a loud click and Derek winked knowingly at the flushed younger man; yeah he is well endowed. Chagrined, Stiles spun around in humiliation and hobbled back to his jump seat completely aroused and still holding a sleeping Lydia.

Boyd, the only sane one in the group, pushed the button to apologize for his crazy family and plead that Stiles won’t black list the Hales with TSA. Stiles thinks of all the good that could come if these people were never allowed to fly again, but sadly he doesn’t have that kind of power. The young man took the sleeping toddler from Stiles tired arms, glaring at Peter and Cora, and buckled her back in her car seat.

  

Stiles thought this Hale hurricane was over and he could just sit back and enjoy the bumpy flight (the captain’s plan to head north around the arctic front really hasn’t made a difference, sorry Scott!), but no, a Hale beckons again and the peace was really just the eye of the storm.

Cora jumps out of her seat, seeing his angry face and tries to block Stiles from continuing to the bathroom. “Stilinski, it’s alright. I’m sure they didn’t realize they pushed the button. You know how kids are?”

Stiles looks over to see what other seats are empty and finds Derek and Erica’s are empty like Peter’s. Isaac is still buckled in, but looking worriedly over the seat back between the bathroom door and Stiles. The kid’s blue eyes widen in alarm when a muffled thump from a body being slammed against its paneling jostles the thin door. Stiles head swings around to the lavatory door and he gasps when the sound of the plastic door starts cracking under the force. A child starts screaming at the top of her lungs and another child starts howling inhumanely. Stiles realizes then that the strawberry blonde toddler is missing as well.

“What the hell is going on in there?” He tries to push Cora’s hands off, but her petite size is deceptively strong. The door buckles again and all of the passengers have turned in their seats toward the frightening sounds of shredding metal and shattering glass. Boyd is standing now in his row and Argent is running out of the galley towards the commotion up the aisle. Stiles watches as his coworker realizes what and whom she is dealing with and goes ice queen in a second.

Allison turns and addresses the cabin, “Please remain calm and seated with seatbelts secured to comply with the captain’s orders. We will check on the commotion. Do not interfere.”

Allison instructs Cora to release him and Stiles is astounded when the woman lets him go. Boyd though scrambles courteously over his seatmate to get between Cora and Allison. Isaac releases his belt and isn’t so polite getting to the aisle, he just walks over the lap of the seated woman in his row, and drops to the lit floor behind the chief purser. Isaac shy face is gone and actually looks intimidating for a kid. Everything changes in the second Isaac joins the standoff; Allison becomes defensive and then passive surrounded by the three Hales. Her hands go up in surrender. Stiles is getting anxious, are these people dangerous? Are the other passengers in danger? He doesn’t think so, but he has never seen Argent back off a confrontation like she is doing now.

“Hale, get your group under control right now or there will be serious consequences,” Allison commands coldly.

Stiles thinks she speaking to Cora, but Cora does nothing. A loud roar echoes through the pressurized tin can and several passengers scream in alarm. Stiles, who is watching the rattling door of the bathroom over Cora’s shoulder, catches a flash of yellow on Cora’s face from the corner of his eye. When he turns the glow is gone, but Stiles swears her brown eyes glowed for a second like Erica’s before. Both of the kids’ cries stop immediately and Stiles can barely make out quiet command from the lavatory, Cora steps to the side and the door inches open a crack.

“Stiles can go. Argent back off.” Cora relates the alpha’s command.

Allison looks pensive, but nods to Stiles to go forward. She turns back to the worried passengers. “Everything is fine. There is no danger to anyone. The girls were just having a tantrum and scared of the turbulence; the family apologizes for the disturbance.”

Isaac scoffs at the woman’s nerve to claim they had apologized, but Cora scowls at the boy and motions for him to return to his seat. She and Boyd both take their seats slowly and watch Argent retreat to her own jump seat, before buckling in.

Stiles watches the standoff disperse in confusion. He sucks an uneasy breath in and steps up to the cracked door. He is not sure what he’ll find behind the door, but he prays that the girls were not used as battering rams against the lavatory door. Eeping in a non-manly manner, Stiles is pulled into the crowded lavatory when his wrist is snatched and the door shuts in a slam.

“What the hell? Is this like a hosta-“ Stiles words are cut off by the locking lavatory door.

“Shh, no one is going to hurt you. Just, don’t make any sudden moves.” Derek’s gruff voice tickles his neck. Stiles can smell the heady scent of the two men’s perspiration, but their colognes make them distinct. Derek scent is strong with earthy essences of a woody oak moss and leather, whereas Peter wears sharper sweet oils of citrus and cloves. The little ones smell like pine trees and summer wild flowers. Together their natural scents overpower the cloying Spring Rain chemical fragrance and he breathes deep the comfort their presence gives him. Then he smells the metallic iron smell of blood. He tries to reach for the door handle to get some distance to see who is hurt, but a bloody hand pulls his bicep back and Stiles is stuck with two fully grown men and two children in impossibly close quarters.

Derek squeezes the blond five-year-old over Stiles, smashing the squirming child into the ceiling to clear his head and drops the growling blond onto his chest. Erica quickly grabs whatever she can to keep from falling, which happen to be Stiles nose and shoulder. Arms quickly wrap around Erica and squeeze the girl to Stiles chest, while Stiles back gets fully pressed into Derek’s broad chest. Erica gives a protesting kick, still in a fit from whatever tantrum she and her cousin are having. Stiles missed it from his seat, but the girls must have been so upset, it sent Peter and Derek into the only privacy on the plane to try and get order. Judging from the deep scratches on the wall and the blood somewhere in the confined space the order is superficial. At least the girls aren’t screaming; the sound of their wails sent deep shivers through his core. Stiles is trying recall any sane method of parenting that encourages parents to scream or roar at their children and fails. These men are insane, if not abusive.

Stiles wants to ask about the welfare of the children, but all concern for the children dies when Erica’s second strong kick catches his inner thy and his clackers. His cry is muffled by Peter’s mouth coming forward to silence him in a kiss. Stiles heart is pounding and his agony has his tears pouring onto the wiggling little blond head as he tries to curl up between the men, but strong arms unhelpfully keep him upright and his head is reeling from his dizziness. He thinks he can’t breathe in the hot spinning lavatory, but then the pain disappears. Stiles opens his eyes and sees under the bright light that the Hales really are magically zapping his pain away with the black vein technique. By their twin grunts, they actually feel his agony and he welcomes the pain free high. Stiles doesn’t smirk that the sources of his horrendous day are suffering a little.

The hot feeling from the Hale touch is back. Stiles is unfortunately getting used to the high (being exposed to so many Hale related injuries), so he doesn’t completely melt into their strong arms. Not completely, only partially. Wiggling gently into Derek’s warm strong mass, he kisses Peter. Peter’s pain laced face relaxes into pleasure and the man surges forward with his tongue in a smothering kiss. Derek whines in jealousy and Stiles feels one of the man’s hands dip into his sweater collar. The hand slides across his breast bone and finds a pebbled nipple to tease. Gasping in pleasure from the men’s attention, Stiles happily returns the kiss and with his free arm he reaches back to rub deep circles on Derek’s thigh. Stiles rolls his tongue along the roof of Peter’s mouth then backs away in a sigh. For once the older man looks too exhausted to look smug from their kiss and Derek’s ghost touch over his nipple stills as they remember the little monster is in their sandwich. Erica is no longer shivering in fear, but yawning calmly and rolling her cheek into Stiles shoulder and taking deep huffs of Stiles scent through his bunched sweater. Derek removes his arm from his top and gently brushes his hand through her silky blonde hair.

Peter’s precious strawberry blonde gets picked up from the bathroom counter and out of the shattered pieces of the mirror into Peter’s bloody arms. Stiles can only get a quick glance to see the scratches down Peter’s arms are pink raised claw marks, but can’t be responsible for all the blood on his skin. Peter helps shift Erica’s calm form to Stiles’ side, the girl growls when Peter shifts her, but settles back when she realizes she still gets to be held by Stiles. Derek unclasps his arms for a second and Stiles can see dried blood on his wrists, but no cuts. Peter slides the toddler in the vacated spot on Stiles’ other side, and then Derek’s safety belt folds over the girls and the bemused flight attendant. Peter turns on the water in the glass filled sink and carefully cleans the blood from his arms.  Using the paper towels generously to clean off the blood splatters around the stall, he finally cleans Derek’s wrist and Stiles’ sweater free of the crimson stains. He disposes the mirror pieces in the trash with practiced ease, and then leans into their huddled mass. Peter kisses Erica’s head and then Lydia’s sleeping head and wraps his arms protectively around the girls like Derek and places his hands on Stiles’ hips.

Stiles wonders how he has become a central piece to this strange family in such a short amount of time and through such aggravating circumstances. Erica’s quiet whimper stills Stiles’ thoughts as her little nails pricks his chest through his sweater. Derek tightens his hold around all of them and Peter on the other side, together they form a protective cocoon as the plane hit heaviest turbulence yet.

Lydia cries out from her sleep and nuzzles under Stiles throat from the heavy shaking. He hushes her softly and begins humming a gentile melody of a Polish folksong his mother used to lull him to sleep and believes everything will be fine. Almost immediately the shaking stops. Stiles can feel both men quickly back out of their embrace in surprise, Stiles watches as shock changes to wonder on Peter’s smooth face. His clear blue eyes look past his honey amber to Derek over Stiles shoulder. Their silent conversation is interrupted by Erica’s squeaky little voice.

“You smells like a rain storm and it feels like ladybugs are tickling me.”

“Sweetheart that’s the lavatory’s fragrance Spring Rain and I know flying can be scary. Especially today with all the bumps, but it’s really safe. It is safer than a car.” Stiles says kindly to the little kid who still has her nail poking into his sweater and thankfully not gouging his pectoral muscle. At the last part of his explanation her eyes begin to tear and she starts hiccupping in heaving breaths.

Stiles is a bit lost, at the quick change in the girl’s behavior, but is smart enough to realize she has suffered a recent loss and his stupid comment about cars being safe the cause. He looks up to Peter’s frowning face. Peter leans in and kisses his forehead. Derek reaches over Stiles’ shoulder and kisses Erica on the cheek and then breathes deeply in and out in Stiles ear, rubbing his stubble over the sensitive skin. Derek places a soothing kiss over the burn and then buries his nose into Stiles cheek. Stiles can’t tell with the soft puffs from the sleeping toddler and his other ear covered by Derek’s thick neck, but he thinks Derek says, “Mine.”

Peter watches Derek and smiles. “Stiles, there has to be a reason the fates bumped us from three flights to meet you. You are amazing and I can’t see a life without you between me and Derek. You fit in with our little pack so well. Please agree to hear us out when we land. There is no way we can part from our fates together now.”

Stiles startles from the outright forwardness of this man’s claim, but something deep in him stops the words from coming out of his mouth. This isn’t some come-on for a hook up in an airplane lavatory or a passionate one night stand in a hotel. Stiles can feel the constant buzz of his body’s energy, pulse and arch in powerful surges. His once untamed core feels harmonious and controlled under their touch. His confusion at this other part of his being, long left unanswered, feels at home sandwiched between the Hales. “You mean like the pain zapping magic and the glowing eyes; the claws and the growling.”

Peter raises his eyebrows, “So observant and clever. Derek you couldn’t have found a better mate.”

Stiles feels Derek’s hot tongue chasing his moles as his cheeks tug back in a smile. He doesn’t know what Peter is talking about, but he feels a great happiness well up in his soul. “And you?”

Peter’s own tear squeeze out of his shut eyes. “There was a woman I loved deeply, but in the end of time there is only you, my mate.”

Stiles can’t stop his tears. His Adam’s apple bobs as his constricted throat swallows all his snot. He is a mess and he doesn’t even know who these men are or why his soul is singing so. He can only feel the calm to his electric storm their anchoring touches bring. Then his brain catches up and he panics, “Wait you mean both of you guys want me? Whoa, slow down. I am not sure how I feel about that.”

Peter laughs, dismissing his panic and kisses his lips softly, then spins him to face Derek. Derek releases his arms and cups the younger man’s chin to kiss him. The soft smack of lips is interrupted by a raspberry being blown by Lydia. At some point she woke up in their jostling and watches their kiss curiously. Stiles watches as the gold glow seeps into her wide green eyes.

Erica is giggling. “Your ladybugs are tickling me.”

Derek smiles, his clear blue eyes open and he lifts his head in silent thanks. Derek releases his chin, “Stiles, we’ll work things out later and you’ll understand more. Can you take the girls for a moment? I just need to speak to Peter for a minute.”

Stiles nods dazedly and fumbles with the latch with both arms occupied. He tries to ignore the plane full of gawkers as he walks with a heated face and both children toward the tail of the plane to Allison. He wants to let her know everything is alright, better than alright. Not that the ice queen would care, but the strange disturbance will need to be filed for the damage report and he wants to be clear that it was an accident. Stiles pauses as his mind catches up, he really doesn’t know how to explain the incident.

Argent pulls the brake on the snack cart, after taking one look at his tear stained face and freezes. Her stare darts up to the bathroom to Derek’s dark head nods to her, before he closes the messy bathroom door from other passenger’s view. Both girls shy away from Argent’s careful study of them. Stiles smiles at Allison and she busies herself with a drink order, but never looks away from him. Once she is certain that he hasn’t been damaged, she tells him to get the kids a snack and get them belted in with the other Hales.

Stiles tries to set down Erica, but she screams. “Erica it’s ok. I just want to get you and Lydia juice and a snack, hun.”

“No. NO! It’s scary, Stiles! That thing smells funny.”

Stiles eyes travel to where the small girl is pointing. He squeezes past the snack cart by walking over the empty aisle seats to the emergency exit portal in the tail and freezes as he watches the peeling metal of the iced portal buckle under the temperature difference from a small fire sparking in the door’s electronics. He can’t even smell the burning electronics from up close, he has no idea how the little girl could sense it from fifteen feet away. He gasps in quick breath and holds the kids tight and spins to Allison. In a quiet voice he say, “The fuselage has been damaged.”

He takes three steps away to the rear emergency phone and gets Scott on the line. “Scott we have an emergency, there is a growing rupture in the fuselage! Cut the cabin electricity. Tail emergency exit, port side, send Clark quick.” Scott says something back, but Stiles can’t hear as the growing mechanical problem shreds through the body and the cabin loses pressure.

Stiles holds on desperately to the children as the growing tear sucks air out of the plane. The plane makes a sharp decent from 33,000 feet and Stiles can feel the uncontrolled roll of the plane buckling in the air pockets on the edge of the weather front. The emergency oxygen masks drop from the overhead bins, but Stiles is wedged with his trembling legs spread over the gaping hole and can’t reach a mask. His oxygen deprived muscles strain to fight the pressure. Blankets and loose items hurl out the hole, now the size of his chest. The electricity is cut and all goes dark.

“Stiles!”

Allison’s brown doe eyes of are wide with panic. Her backwards glance from the floor where she is tightly holding the seat reveals she is just as helpless to stop the shaking snack cart that grinds screeching through its metal brakes. The pilots have managed to pull the plane out of the sharp decent. No longer fighting gravity the snack cart lurches toward him and gains speed as the rupture grows. He tries to brace against the force, but he is clobbered by the heavy overpriced snack dispenser. He groans as his back takes the weight, his feet are on the wall of the plane and he is forced into a squat against the two surfaces, while he watches the gray clouds through the rip between his feet. The children are screaming and clawing desperate to hold on to him. He groans in pain and the last of his endurance falters. The sharp metal cart, abuser to aisle seat elbows everywhere, does them in.

Stiles thinks that his terrible day ends on a good note as he watches the cart snag. He keeps tight hold of the two girls as they free fall to the earth from the plane thousands of feet in the air; the instrument of their own deaths has lodged into the hole preventing anyone else from being sucked out. The surreal effect of falling away from the plane that is about to crash is deceptive because he knows he needs to land somewhere too, he is just wishes he had more time with the Hales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Stiles and the girls! 
> 
> So I went ahead with a Magic!Stiles and mate thing. I never had a clear idea of where this story was headed, but that is the way it goes. I'm kinda bummed that I tossed in the towel so easily, but you see why Stiles needs some big magic guns at the end of the chapter. Don't worry Derek and Peter will find it hard to share when they find each other again.


	5. Dropping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the skies it fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is just a short one so sorry! I'll have a longer one up soon.  
> You guys make my day, thank you always for your support and comments :) It is so nice to see you are enjoying this story and thank you for your patience with the slow updates. Bad girl!
> 
> Some of the info came from a discovery show of a real scientific study of a plane crash. Interesting study. http://www.discovery.com/tv-shows/curiosity/videos/inside-a-plane-crash.htm
> 
> Later lovelies, AzulMountain

Terrain Awareness and Warning System voice [….]

 

“Flight 1139 Emergency….”

[Dropping….Dropping…..Dropping]

“Level it out!”

“Come on baby, lift! Lift, dam it!”

[Dropping….Dropping…Dropping]

“Shit! Come on! At least 2000 Ft. per minute, please! No fiery death tomb, please God.”

“Left… Left, Left, Nose Up!!!”

whoop…whoop, [Pull Up!]

whoop…whoop, [Pull Up!]

"Scott, I love you."

\-----------------------------------------------------

 _Screaming_.

“Brace! Brace!” Allison’s oxygen deprived orders are barely heard over the rattling and screaming of the terrified passengers.

The draw on her body toward the gaping hole ceases and her weakened arms relax slightly from the strain, but remain tight as the plane rolls side to side crashing through the air pockets in their decent. A high pitch whistle like a tornado comes from the lodged cart, like a hellish cry of the pain, wailing over the murmurs of prayers and soft crying of the passengers, tucked forward in their seats as they desperately try to escape into their own protective thoughts. None, save Allison, witness his death. One moment he was there, the next he is gone.

She blinks through her tears. No longer able to draw in a deep enough breath to scream her anguish. The ice queen silently mourns her friend’s death from the plane floor. “Stiles,” her soft exhale barley escapes her tight throat.

So many deaths, most at her own hands, yet never has she been so torn and helpless to watch as this accident unfolds. Unable to control Death’s hand, her first real friend’s death takes her by surprise. The depth his life means to her rocks her more than the jostling of the falling plane. She never allows people too close because of the danger that comes with being her associate. While Talia Hale has guaranteed her life from the Hales, others seek their vengeance for her family’s crimes. She had tried to keep the ridiculous guy an arm’s length, even when he needed her compassion, but still he has bored holes through her armor and made a home in her heart [A/N: Stiles the heartworm? Ewe].

Argent could do little against the warm gale that was Stiles Stilinski buffeting against her for years melting her cold armor and helping her grow as a person. Pushing her winter clouds away and bringing with him the greatest gift, love. Her own puppy sun :) Scott’s warmth and compassion finishes the job and makes her whole.

Never has she known Death’s victims as a person full of love, dreams, and faults. He was so real, so human, only to be gone in a second. Absolute darkness and not of the low lit plane from the grey sky zooming past, but of oxygen deprivation leeches her vision. Just as blackness carpets her sight, two red and two gold bouncing lights make their way closer to her prone form. Screams as the demons from hell ascend the skies to welcome the newest souls, screeching as the lights approach.

‘They come for me.’

The werewolves make no effort to hide their true forms. As they gouge holds to traverse the steep angle of the plane back towards the tale, Bounding from the backs of seats over screaming passenger’s heads, they claw deep into the floor and seats to gain purchase before the next leap.

A clawed hand wrenches her off the floor and her hold breaks easily from the seat frame. Like a ragdoll she flops in the alpha’s claws as she is dragged to the back galley. Plastic snaps and she is pressed into a jump seat. The constricting straps cross her aching chest. A yellow blur swims before her eyes and then the sweet relief of oxygen flows into her deprived lungs. Her vision clears to a very concerned face of Derek Hale.

“Where is he? Where are the girls?”

Finally free to cry heartedly, she releases a strained whimper and points to the cart. Wheels spinning on its side, match the wheels turning in his mind as his confusion turns to absolute horror on the alpha’s face.

“No!” The roar of the alpha is terrifying and Allison chokes on her sobs trying to remain still as the alpha turns to her again. “I feel their bonds, they’re still alive!”

Derek turns to the cart ready to rip the object from the rupture and Peter’s arms barely hold Derek from pulling the cart free.

“You can’t. They are gone!” Allison screams afraid that if Derek succeeds, she’ll see more innocent lives lost to the breach. Last time she checked werewolves couldn’t fly.

Well-built arms reach around the middle of the alpha’s mid-shift form and join Peter's. Boyd helps pull Derek from the side of the emergency exit. The alpha was intent to follow his missing pack. Bereft with grief he turns and swipes at any who keep him from his mate and pack. A nasty swipe across Peter’s chest fells a wash of blood.

“Stop fighting!” Cora screams where she is slowly making her way toward the scene with Isaac’s arms looped around her neck riding on the female beta’s back. She is weaker than the males against the G force, but refused to stay behind like Boyd told Cora and Isaac.

The scent of his uncle’s blood breaks his fury and Derek’s berserker moment ends in a sorrowful howl. Echoed by his betas and family, the planes cabin fills with the sounds of nightmares.

_Crying._

Isaac jumps into Derek’s hold and the little boy wails into his uncle’s neck. His mother, his father, and now his little sister, he is alone now.  

Derek pushes into the dirty blond curls of his nephew, trying desperately to focus on Erica, and Lydia’s pack bonds. _Fear_. His spark mate’s fledging bond remains strong wrapped tight around his core and ignites a fire in his loins as a surge of energy draws on his alpha power. Derek gasps as he feels the drain push him to his human form. Peter collapses to the floor as he experiences the same drain and tumbles into the lavatory door. _Whole_ , _they live_.

The engines’ stall out and quiet settles on the cabin. Not just silence, but a settling of fears and resignation deep in the peoples’ minds. The plane is going to crash and they will likely die. The demons of death are here to escort them to the afterlife. Their seatmates all saw the guides, this is not a hallucination.

 _Acceptance_.

Allison watches as the pack break apart and separate into two groups. Cora helps Isaac sit in the jump seat on the starboard side of the plane. Buckled in tight he reaches up to hold Cora’s hand as she leans against the wall. Boyd pushes against the female beta flush to the galley wall and presses her securely against his body. The beta punches through the plastic paneling to grip the steal support of the planes framework and grips tight. Allison watches as Derek copies the same impromptu fortification around Peter having recovered the momentary weakness. Peter grunts as his injury pulls and Derek presses a chaste kiss to his uncle’s forehead.

“We will get them back.”

Allison turns from the family, lost in her thoughts of mortality. _Why now when she has found a reason to live?_ She reaches above her where the rattling phone falls easily into her hand. She pulls the phone to her ear and speaks the words for the first time into the receiver to the cockpit.

“Scott, I love you.”

 _Impact_.


	6. Double Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles, Erica, and Lydia play a game and the others just try to stay alive.

 

This is a morbid video game.

Snack items are points, calories equal warmth, and health points only move in one direction, down. There is only one life and definitely no reset for Stiles or the girls. There are no pulsing hearts floating in the air to help him recover the energy he used to somehow prevent their eminent pancake with the earth. At that moment it was only Stiles and when that wasn’t enough miraculously Derek and Peter were with him and then they were safe.

There is no game store to buy items to survive this frozen landscape. There is only a trail of snack packets that may or may not bring them to a plane crash. Stiles can only believe that the feeling in his core that this bread-crumb-trail leads them somewhere safe.

A trickle of sweat beads over his brow line and freezes down his nasal bridge as he puffs out frozen breaths from the effort it takes to crests over a small hill in snow above his knees. He is the vehicle in this game and wanders the frigid snow pack under the direction of his controller, Erica. The little blonde headed terror rides piggyback and points him by scent to the next fallen snack bag from the cover of his stretched sweater. Lydia rides on his front, napping quietly tucked under his sweater and mostly out of the wind. With one arm tucked under Lydia, his other swings wildly to grab trunks or branches to help pull them up the slope to next point.

Stiles probably looks like a pregnant hunchback to the squirrels as he wanders the frozen landscape in search of brightly colored chip bags to stuff away in his thankfully growing pouch.

Erica, thankfully, is taking the game seriously. She even nudges his side with her heels like a real cowgirl to direct her tired stead. Stiles would probably have died within four hours without his little metabolic heaters. They put out an insane amount of BTUs, so even if their extra weight sinks him further into the snow pack, it is a small fare to pay for the trade.

“There!”  Stiles grunts when the little girl digs her princess dress shoe into his right side just under his rib cage and promptly changes course. Then he sees the partially buried…’Holy shit, a sandwich! Score!’

Stiles makes an exaggerated chime sound to announce the prize and Erica giggles. He carefully bends over to pick up cold wrapped ham sandwich, so his big belly (Lydia) doesn’t brush the snow bank. “Double points!”

Erica pops her head out of the collar choking Stiles. His sweater stretches to accommodate her stuck head and his neck. Coughing, Stiles uses his free finger to pull the wool collar away from his smashed trachea. The smell of the sandwich under his nose is divine and his stomach grumbles in a demanding request. He never thought he could be excited about airline food, but circumstances change everything.

Stiles struggles to make a double point sound appropriate to award the protein grab, when Erica tries to snake her arm out from under the sweater through the already strained collar to grab the prize. She can’t manage to fit and he is quick to say “Turtle up, kiddo,” before the distressed sweater tears and leaves them exposed to the elements.

Erica kisses his neck and pops back into the sweater like a shell tucking turtle. She pulls all her extremities around his core and shoulders and waits impatiently for the snack. Stiles shivers a little as the back of his neck is exposed more from the stretched out article and carefully reaches back to deposit the gem into their cache, a folded airline blanket guarded by Erica inside his sweater.

He hears the cellophane start to peel away. “No snacking until we rest!”

He wasn’t quick enough to remind the kid with the turkey sandwich from before. Stiles can learn. Werewolf kids put a new level to childrearing. While the just walking toddler has been content with kettle chips and Starbursts, that won’t last long and he hasn’t had anything more than five miniature bags of pretzels during their last rest break over an hour ago.

“But Stiles,” Erica gives the best pouty whine.

Stiles knows she is probably hungry again. His little furnaces need a lot of food, but he doesn’t know how long they’ll have to walk. By the fading light, he shudders to realize they will likely need to spend the night. He curses that he has only managed to find one thin frozen stiff airline blanket. He knows a few jackets and blankets slipped past when he was struggling to stay inside the plane, but they haven’t crossed any of those articles. He’ll need to find a protected space and few more layers to bed down for the night. He just hopes he won’t have to climb any snow covered trees to get them.

He channels Mr. Scowly Hale and does his best impersonation of the alpha and commands, “No pup, we need to save it for later. Put it back right now missy.” Erica has quite the mouth on her and is used to getting her way, no matter if she’s been told no. So it’s a major win for Stiles when she acquiesces to his request.

“Ok Cowgirl, point this pony to the next… ”

“No, my name is Rainbow Sparkles the bestest cowgirl and your name is Buttercup and you’re my _unicorn_ not a pony.” Erica crankily whines.

She kind of gives a vicious knee to his kidney, but Stiles endures only pausing mid-step. Her unicorn just rolls his eyes in exasperation, ‘Why is this child always hurting me? _’_

The game was bound to bore the rambunctious were-child, so he tried to make it as exciting as possible. She whined for half an hour to get down, but he can’t risk letting her down. She is dressed in tights and princess shoes, definitely not appropriate for winter and snow up to his knees. Not that he is dressed any better. His silk clad legs and work shoes should be frozen stiff and full of snow by now, but they remain dry. Whatever innate magic skill he has must work on a survival instinct level because he didn’t even notice until they stopped to rest and Erica was upset at being carried.

If she got her way she would be soaked and super cranky, not just cold. He would lose his little heater and the danger of hypothermia would be that much more. What if she ran off or got hurt? Survival means that much more to him now that he has two little kids to care for. Without the little Hales, he probably would have given up and accepted death falling to Earth. Instead, they gave him a reason to fight and to believe that things will be better.

_Derek. Peter. Scott. Allison. His father..._ No he won’t dwell, he must keep going.

“Congratulations number one cowgirl of the West, Ms. Rainbow Sparkles, and her trusted unicorn, Buttercup, and Ms. Strawberry please proceed to level two.” _Cheerful tune_ and Erica wiggles around on his back dancing to the tune he made up. “Next mission find a safe space to rest. Mission prerogatives: mostly dry, sheltered from wind, and dry wood to start a fire. Do you accept your mission Rainbow Sparkles?”

“All I smell is wet wood. I want more sandwiches and Starbursts. ”

“You get triple points for more treats found, but don’t forget your mission. Buttercup will help you search too.”

Erica actually hums over this decision as if she has an option. Freezing to death or Erica’s compliance, Stiles clearly will continue, but the werewolf’s nose is very helpful and he is trying to keep things in a light mood.

‘Thank god for that werewolf nose.’ The first hour of wandering was filled with their excited chatter about supernatural, until Lydia started crying in protest of her disturbed nap. So Stiles came up with their game, when he noticed a shiny wrapper of a chip bag in the snow.

One moment they had been in free fall the next a giant soap bubble surrounded them, like Glenda the good witch, and safely deposited them to the ground. Stiles wouldn’t have believed it, except for the excruciating drain the raw magic had zapped from him. Even when he felt that it hadn’t been enough and they would have fallen the last two hundred feet, an extra boost had kept them all safe. A burst of rainbow colors and a mostly drained Spark later, Stiles and the girls have made their way through the frozen forest whole and relatively safe.

Stiles can’t be sure, but he thinks they are maybe in the Upper State Michigan or even Canada. He has no idea, but from his free fall he saw huge bodies of water and the land is heavily forested, but no human made landmarks to orient himself.

Luckily the blizzard has subsided for now. The grey clouds from the front are off on the horizon, but the sun still is blocked enough he guesses they have an hour before the sun sets. It is best to find camp now, before it gets too dark.

“What kinda lame game is this anyway? Lydia- I mean _Strawberry_ hasn’t even done anything and she gets to be in level two too! I am doing all the work and she sleeps. She even ate some of my snacks! Stiles, I found them. They are my prizes. Plus this is boring there are no enemies to smash like those action games Isaac plays,” Erica huffs from her perch, squirming and poking into his kidney with every point for emphasis.

Lydia’s head snaps up out of her sleep at the same time as Erica’s growl rumbles against his back. Pinpricks of twenty claws poke into his back and chest. Ignoring the pain Stiles spins around to catch sight of shadows weaving through the dark woods. Soft foot falls in the squeaking snow is all the human can hear as he tries to follow the blurry shapes.

Bears, boars, wolves, cougars?

“So Ms. Rainbow Sparkles wants a little challenge to her game?” An unfamiliar drawl of a South African accent calls from the woods.

Stiles whips around to the voice’s location almost dropping Lydia. He certainly was not expecting humans to come out of the shadows. Erica very unhelpfully pops her head out of the sweater and chokes him again. The bursting seems unravels at the sides and Stiles gasps at the intruding cold, but at least he can breathe again.

“Erica?” Stiles worriedly eyes the three figures melting out of the woods with now glowing red eyes. ‘Oh shit, werewolves. _Alphas_ , if what Erica says is true.’

“Sorry Stiles, but I don’t want to play anymore.” She tucks herself flat and as hidden as possible against his back trying to make herself invisible like the small ball Lydia instinctively mimics in the face of the threatening alpha werewolves.

“Hello, mister spark and little misses. Welcome to my territory. My name is Deucalion.”

* * *

 

 

Allison’s frozen tears fall onto Scott’s cool cheek. The Captain lies on his back on the snowy ground dazedly watching Allison with wonder. Diamonds on her cherry red cheeks fall to his face as she begs muffled words above him. Trying to collect the precious gems for their engagement rings, his hand slips from the blanket to wander over his face in search of the precious jewels.

He traces the burning frozen streaks left behind, but the perfect tear shaped diamonds disappear before he can collect them. Confusion cresses across his brow as he lifts his hand to see only a cold dampness remaining on his blood streaked fingers.

He studies the dark stain on his hand through his blurry vision for a moment, before his raspy voice speaks, “I think someone is bleeding.”

He hears Allison’s breath hitch and then her absurdly warm hand wraps around his shaking fingers and pull his hand up to her red lips where she presses a chaste kiss to his hand and more diamonds fall. He pushes his hand out of her grasp and traces gently up her cheek to feel the cold hard gemstones are actually scalding tears.

Her beautiful face becomes focused enough for Scott to see her properly. “You’re crying.” 

She captures his wrist in a soft grip and folds his arm safely to his side under the blanket. Trying to sit, he fails and grunts with the effort, but he can’t feel any pain. He feels nothing, just numbness. He closes his eyes.

\---

When he opens his eyes again, Scott can tell that the storm has stopped. It’s quiet. He focuses on the blob above his nose and she smiles brightly at him. His angel is shrouded in a mandala of rainbow sparkles from the sunlight refracting through the disturbed ice cloud misting about the crash site.

“You’re back.” She speaks in a puff of white cloud as she leans in and kisses his nose in a molten caress.

Scott watches her dimples quiver from the masked tension she tries to hide. Her smile is radiant, but really he knows she is sad. He doesn’t like to see that fake smile.

He blinks to clear his vision and opens them again. Her swollen red eyes remain worriedly fixed to his face, but she holds strong to her armor. That smile. She is so beautiful, but it is wrong.

“I love you, too.” Scott’s own cloud of frozen breath wafts into her face.

Her dimples sink into a frown and Scott knows he is finally there. Her armor is gone and he meets the woman he loves for the first time and she is amazing.

* * *

 

 

 

The clamor of objects being tossed into the metal fuselage drum through the silent valley as Isaac searches the crash in desperation. A green duffle slits like it has been gutted as it snags on the sharp breach of the cargo space. The bag’s contents slip out of the gapping tear and falls to the ground. Red lipstick and powder from a makeup case explode onto the frozen ground, staining the pristine white with a mockery of colors like cheap special effects. The blood and flesh effect is strangely more sickening then the real body only a foot away and Peter knows that he cannot let this go on.

The captain’s fresh blood drops from his wet hands. He had been wrist deep in one of the captain’s abdominal cavities only a moment ago, when the pounding began. He did what he could to dislodge the shrapnel from the crushed organ. Carefully he stitched the inner walls then the abdominal tissue and finally the tan skin on the dark haired pilot. He left Isaac alone, until the faint smell of fuel caught in the air and all the werewolves turned in alarm at the frustrated grunts and pounding echoes.

The child’s search was no longer the simple distraction tactic used by the adults as they helped treat the survivors’ grievous wounds. It was only meant to help the shocked child feel like he could do something to save the people he loves in light of all the death. Now it was dangerous and would only bring more death.    

“Isaac enough! Get out here, right now.”

“NO! I’ll find them! I won’t leave them behind.” The boy turns back to shifting the ‘Fragile’ marked box to its identification label, reading over the name, and then tosses it carelessly to the side. A small tinkling of glass smashing joins the scraping sounds echoing in the hull.

Peter’s eyes adjust to the dark as he leans through the hole and spots the boy muscling heavy boxes to the side. Isaac’s dusty blond curls are pressed to his sweaty head by woman’s stocking wrapped tightly around his nose and mouth in an impromptu mask as the child digs through the mountain of jumbled personal belongings in the smashed belly of the airplane. Besides being structurally unsecure the stench of jet fuel is over whelming. The small and ineffectual measure the young pup has taken to prevent poisoning is not going to cut it for long and it has already been too long. One spark from Isaac’s frantic shifting could be enough to ignite the fumes and Peter won’t lose another. Especially not for pack that is already dead.

Peter’s eyes tear harder from the astringent air as he enters the cargo space’s concentrated air. He carefully, but quickly, steps through the mess and he scoops the frustrated pre-teen up by the back of the neck. He drags the crying child, who fights Peter’s hold viciously by raking his claws through his fine leather jacket and into the beta’s arm. Once out of the cargo hull, Peter takes a deep fresh breath to clear his head and then look to the furious partially transformed child. Peter’s eye twitches in irritation at the destruction of his late wife’s present and he tosses Isaac a little harder than necessary into snow drift to cool down.

Isaac’s red face pops of the bank and he gasps for fresh air with snow melting off his heated face. His googly eyes roll around a bit as his werewolf healing takes care of the adverse effects of breathing in the toxic gas. He tries to stand, but falls back into the snow pile like a snow angel and doesn’t try again. He can do nothing as Peter stomps furiously through the knee deep snow to grab him by his sweatshirt and shake him roughly.

“What the hell were you thinking? Fuck the possible spark you could have created, you were close to killing yourself just by remaining in there and breathing! You can’t even stand! You should have left the second you started smelling the leaking fuel. I didn’t know you were that stupid Isaac!”

“But I had to find them, they are pack!”

“They are dead!”

“They’re all I have left! You don’t understand!”

Isaac swipes another slash through the brown hide. Peter grabs his smaller hand and carefully folds the irate child’s claws, so as not to hurt the squirming child or himself. He just waits, mentally cooling his own rage and fear, as Isaac’s form shifts back and forth out of control with his fluctuating emotions.

When Isaac’s tear stained human face settles, Peter pulls the kids face right up to his own and looks deep into the boy’s soft blue eyes. “I understand Isaac, I really do. I want her back; your mother and father, too. But your parents would never forgive me if I let their son die trying to recover their ashes! They are dead. You, precious, are alive and it would kill us if you left us too!”

Isaac’s fury melts from his face and he searchingly looks into Peter’s eyes as though he is looking for the man’s lie. Peter mentally curses teenagers and their dramatics. What happened to Laura’s sweet little angle? Now the little pre-teen is all angst, believing the lies Ennis fed him. He will smother the man’s poison with love, until the strong caring Isaac the pack knows, returns to them.

“Can you imagine Laura as a zombie alpha werewolf coming back to get revenge. I’d let her take it freely because I would never forgive myself if you died in there.”

Isaac’s lips curl into a half smile at the thought, but then his smile slips into a pout just thinking of her. With silent tears he throws his small arms around his great-uncle’s neck and Peter lifts the lanky boy out of the snow and off his feet.

“Please don’t let their sacrifice mean nothing, Pup. You aren’t alone. We are family and pack, we’ll get through this together. Besides Isaac, I know deep in me that Lydia is alive. I can feel Stiles, so there is a good chance that Erica is still here. Believe with me?”

Isaac nods and scrunches his face holding tight to the thought. His face only begins to relax when the pup nods off in exhaustion. Peter carries the pup almost six football fields to the separated cockpit where the rest of the pack work beside Argent to save the two pilots lives.

* * *

 

 

There is no thick billowing stack of dark smoke; there is no blemish in the pure white of Scott’s vision. Could he turn to his side, he would see how wrong he is. His own crimson stain, black against the white of the landscape, tarnishes the pristine place just like the many dead surrounding the wreckage.  Thankfully, Scott is blissfully unaware and only sees a land of white clouds just like he always dreamed of from the cockpit. It’s like he just stepped out onto the clouds and the spiral towers of snow covered trees are the spires of his cloud castle and his lovely ice queen weeps diamonds at his side. This must be heaven, for this is his truest dream realized.

\-----

“Please, just bite him!”

The frozen ground numbs the pain and slows the bleeding, but the crimson pool continues to grow under Scott. Allison only knows this place as hell as she watches her love die. Peter’s surgery was not enough and Scott will become another figure to add to the death count in a matter of minutes should Allison fail to convince the alpha to bite her beloved. Of the 192 people on the Boeing 767, only the Hale pack, Allison Argent, and two gravely injured pilots have survived the crash.

Engineer Clark’s decapitated head rests under a light blanket to the side, but no one pays it much attention. The nose of the cockpit buckled under the fuselage and completely separated on impact in the snowy valley. The werewolves and Allison were amazed to have survived the crash, but quickly the joy dissolved in the face of all the dead. The airplane’s tail remained relatively intact compared to the rest of the lifeless tomb of the separated cabin. Quiet heart beats led the shocked group half way across the frozen valley to find life in the cockpit.

Derek and Boyd were able to bend the metal frame that caged the two unconscious humans. While alive, the pilots’ bodies had been impaled on various instruments and bent in alarming angles; Scott by far is the worst case of the two. Perhaps it would have been more kind to leave the unconscious men to die in their sleep from the cold and sustained injuries, but Allison refused. There would be no life without her puppy sun. So Peter lent a hand in what he could for a woman who once saved his own wife and the others worked to stabilize Jackson.

Captain Whitmore is awake now and more lucid than Scott, but still doesn’t even notice Cora’s hand on his shoulder. Her healing ability is keeping him from feeling the worst of his injuries; two broken arms, a lacerated calf, and a concussion. The confused co-pilot continues to try and get up to contact the tower to report the crash. Allison tried already, but the instruments are down. Rescuers will have to rely on the emergency beacon to find the site, but in this weather and darkening sky they may not make it for hours.

“He’ll die if he bleeds more, Derek. He won’t be strong enough to survive the bite.” Allison begs the Hales gathered in a huddle discussing a harebrained rescue mission to find Stiles. Derek doesn’t even turn to answer her pleas.

Allison is certain Stiles is dead, but the alpha remains adamant his pups and the flight attendant live. Presuming that Derek’s own grief is blocking his ability to function correctly, coupled with her grief at loosing Scott, there have been some ugly words.

“Please Alpha Hale, I’m begging.” Allison can’t see Derek’s face as his back is turned to her, watching as Peter and Isaac make their way through the deep snow back to the separated cockpit. She does catch Cora’s sneer in the red light of the lit flares around the group. Her beta eyes glow orange over Jackson’s prone form.

“Disgusting hunter,” Cora growls.

“Never again! My promise to Talia Hale is true.” Allison replies icily.

“Knock it off Cora.” Boyd turns from the gathered supplies and throws a heavy parka at the Hale and a pack to Derek. “There are four packs and enough supplies for the girls and Stiles when we find him.”

“Good work Boyd,” Derek says quietly.

“An Argent always at heart though, you are a self-serving bitch. Where was your mercy six years ago? I guess it only takes an innocent’s screams to move you frigid heart.”

“Enough! Cora, finish treating the pilot and get ready.” Derek eyes flash red in warning to his younger sister.

Jackson watches warily from under his Mylar blanket with a large gash across his bruised forehead, dotted with butterfly bandages and stitches, unable to do anything to stop some of the survivors from leaving the crash site. Surely they know that rescuers will come through the storm soon and it unwise to leave the plane. Despite the radio controls failing, the beacon will direct the emergency operation right to their location. As he hears more and more of the argument he feels more out of touch with reality. Confusion and fright war on his face as he listens to the flight attendant’s deranged pleas. Maybe the Chief Purser wasn’t as unscathed as she looks.

Allison digs deep for patience; clearly her pleas are going unheard. Whether it is because she is Argent or they just don’t care, she needs to convince them to save her love and friend.

_Friend. Stiles._

“He is Stiles’ best friend, his brother in everything but blood. Derek, if you are not going to do this for me or Scott, please bite him for Stiles! ”

“Stiles,” Scott groggily mumbles. Barely remembering that he hadn’t seen his friend in the cloud palace, Scott slowly turns his neck around looking for his best friend. The pilot convincingly adds, “Stiles needs to see this place. It is so cool. We are in the clouds; my castle and there are the stables for the pegasi.”

Jackson painfully rolls his eyes at the pilot and groans, “Not this again.” He has heard about Scott’s pipe dream during the countless hours of flight time. Scott’s vision of a castle made of clouds and all the details right down the architecture of the various quarters that travel on the four winds. The man endlessly annoys Jackson each time he get stuck working with the pilot. All because Jackson once admitted to having a strange dream about flying through the towering clouds to find the legendary Laputa. Each meeting more gets added to the tale about the place, even in his acquaintance’s dying words there is something new. “A stable for pegsus, _really_ McCall?”

“Yeah, they- need… to rest.” Scott cringes in pain and settles back haven forgotten again about Stiles.

Allison chokes at the words from her boyfriend as he slips into shock.

“I won’t bite him without consent.” Derek swipes a hand over his brow, after coming to a decision.

“Derek, what are you doing? We don’t have time, Stiles is out there. The girls are out there in the dark. We owe nothing to the conniving bitch!” Cora yells angrily.

“Not another word.” Derek whispers to his sister, his alpha order clear and his eyes glow as bright as the red flares.

“Scott!”

Scott’s eyes shut tiredly and Allison gives an unnecessarily rough slap to his face of the pilot to keep him awake. Caught up a little in the drama of the moment, she soothingly rubs over the red burn of her slap on the man’s pale cheek. “Listen Scott, you want to see Stiles again right? You have to say ‘yes’.”

Scott tries to read Allison’s brown eyes, confused to what he is being asked. His hearing is dulling and he waits for her to repeat her question.

“Isn’t that a little dubious? He has to want it. It’s a gift.” Peter says from over Derek’s shoulder, holding a sleeping Isaac.

“Scott, vampire or werewolf? Which one would you like to be?” Allison tries again.

Scott cheeks lift in a brilliant smile of crimson coated teeth. “Allison you’re spending… too much time with Stiles, that is his…. kind…question.” Scott pushes to answer.

“Just answer Scott,” Allison pleads in fake cheer as she pushes a loose strained of his dark hair across his cold sweaty brow.

“Were-“ Scott’s eyes begin to fall. Allison looks over to Derek and finds she’ll need more.

Panicked Allison grabs his chin. “Werewolf or dead? Focus, please!”

“Wolf.” Scott grumbles. He just wants to fall asleep in the comfy clouds lit in the star light.

“There, consent.”

“Fine Argent, this is for my mate not you.” Derek grumbles at the young ex-huntress and then peels back the Mylar blanket to expose his bruised chest.

“No longer Argent, I will be a McCall and Stiles will be the best man at our wedding. Do this for our futures, Alpha Hale.”

Glowing red eyes meet her hard stare. “I’ll have to bite near his heart for any chance of the bite to take.” Derek rips through the jacket, shredding the various military colors and decorations adorned on the uniform.  When he reaches bare skin, he shifts to his alpha form.

Jackson shuffles away in a hurry, no matter his injuries, from the monster. Eyes wide in fright desperately searching the gathered faces as to why no one finds this sight alarming. He finds no sympathy only quiet resolve. “What the fuck are you?!”

Derek spares the co-pilot’s dramatics with no attention and bites solidly into Scott’s chest.

Blood gurgles from Scott’s screaming mouth. He grunts in agony, no longer capable of screaming, when Derek bites him again for extra measure. Allison watches Scott brown eyes search her out and blearily blink his pain and confusion, until his vision grows to blurry to focus and his eye lids slip shut.

His chest remains still, no longer rising and falling in pained pants. He is just still. Allison looks confused. Scott’s not breathing. Scott’s not healing. She looks up in anger.

Derek tilts his head down at the still human. He can hear the muscle barely pulsing. There is no chance for the alpha’s venom to change the human if he is dead.

“CPR now!” Derek says.

* * *

 

 

“Umm, Mr. Deucalion, Sir- While I really do appreciate your… help, would you mind toning down the red eyes, your kind of scaring the kids.” Stiles is sure the girls don’t mean to, but his skin is littered in thin red punctures and cuts whenever they feel the direction of the blind man’s scrutiny fall on their bundled forms.

He is certain that he has heard of a Russian folktale or Japanese horror story that started with following a blind man into the woods. ‘If one doesn’t exist, there should be, and hopefully I’ll live to tell it. My story, of course, will have a nice happy ending; no bleak they all die because that’s life and injustices are abound,’ Stiles grumbles to himself as they continue this strange procession through the dark forest.

“Disney version for me,” He speaks aloud.

“You’re a curious a one.” Deucalion remarks from ahead of the younger man not turning to look at him.

The twin breaking the snow pack ahead of Stiles and Deucalion laughs, “Your prince charming going to sweep you off your princess feet? Take you for a dance under the moonlight, Sparky?”

“He’s my unicorn and there are two princes waiting for Buttercup!” Erica growls in his defense, which of course has all their guides bursting out loud.

“Oh my god, I am going to vomit a rainbow. That is so precious!” The twin at the rear of the group cackles.

Stiles turns to glare at the werewolf who should be a blue popsicle by now, but looks perfectly comfortable in the frozen night. Deucalion had offered Stiles a coat to replace his split layer and the twin had quickly shed his under the clear order of the blind leader.

“Not to worry cowgirl. My nose tells me all I need to know like how very much his princes will give to have their unicorn back. Buttercup better be on his best behavior though; his riders, too. No inkling of magic or the pups don’t get to dance at the ball. Understand, Stiles?” Deucalion barks out a laugh and continues to trudge on without a verbal answer from the now trembling Stiles.

Stiles absorbs the transparent threat with no grace. Gods, hostage stuff was always Argent’s strong suit. It takes everything in his tired being and his growing love of the two kids to step forward after the man. A man, who just told him he will use him as leverage against the Hale men and thinks nothing about murdering children. He could never face Derek and Peter knowing that he caused their deaths, so pushes his knees to unlock and follow after the werewolves. This fairytale doesn’t sound like the Disney version he envisioned anymore.

Lydia’s wet thumb pops out from where the girl had been sucking it nervously, “Want daddy.”

“Me too, princess.” Stiles answers placing a kiss to her head through the thin sweater.

Erica whispers into his ear, “Der’ will help us.”

She must sense that this game, though as much as she wishes to quit, can’t be stopped. They have been walking for over an hour with their escort and now known captors. The skies have cleared and the sun has set. Subsequently the temperature has dropped and will continue to drop as night falls.

The quiet in the air is disturbed every now and then by the loud crunching. Their well-earned cache was split among his hosts, save for a couple bags for the girls and his grumbling stomach. It’s all gone now, just like the chance to get away. He has no choice but to stay with these strange werewolves or die.

The scent of Cool Ranch Doritos and crunch of chip right in his ear makes the girls dig into his skin and he yowls in pain and fright. Stiles’ heart is beating like a rabbit’s when he spins around to see that the coatless twin has just given him the fright of his life and the scars to match thanks to the girls.

“Move it, Buttercup.”

The alpha smirks down at his chest, where the beads of his blood from Lydia’s damage seep through the destroyed sweater. Erica shivers at his back, cowering like Lydia from the stronger werewolf’s presence and do not relinquishing their tight holds on his poor abused body.

“Such an amazing smell,” the werewolves breathes in deeply, his savory flavored breath misting over Stiles face. “Your blood,” he clarifies for Stiles, whose heart is still pounding in his ears too loud to concentrate on the wolf’s words. “Who knows what kind of creatures in the night it will attract, so move it.”

Stiles tilts away from the werewolf in his face and takes a step off the broken path, all while watching the smirking younger man. Long fangs drop out of the man’s mouth and he says, “Boo.”

Of course the children and Stiles scream loudly and the flight attendant turns to run up the path to the supposedly more sane blind man. He is not stupid to try and run from the three wolves and every horror movie screams at him too be weary of the nice/quiet ones, but he’ll take his chances with the twin in front of the group over the others.

Stiles slows down panting and looking over his shoulder into the dark and sees no one, but he knows the other twin is there. He faces forward again, when telltale pinch of the girls claws descend on his skin again. He mutters under his breath, “You two do realize I don’t heal like a werewolf?”

“S’rry.” Lydia mumbles and a soft kiss to make it better is pecked against his undershirt to his stomach.

Erica hugs him tight around the neck and almost chokes him to death. “Please let go,” he wheezes out.

“Oops! You aren’t strong like mommy and daddy or the rest of the pack. My human, I’ll be carefuller.” Erica slips quickly into her warm den on his back, squeezing his torso tight, but with no claws when Deucalion walks towards them.

“Alas, the Hale pack has already lost so many. There is no need to make our upcoming negotiations-” He pauses for a moment, clearly listening intently, before continuing “more difficult. Isn’t that right, Derek?”

Stiles frozen legs almost buckle in relief when he realizes Deucalion is speaking to his Hale. He sighs in joy, until Deucalion’s clawed hand closes around his throat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I guess I can cross stomach flu off the list. Happy to be back on my feet! Warming reunion in the next chapter and hopefully Stiles terrible day will end with his much desired Disney version, well more x-rated than anything Disney would allow, including the happy ending part ;)
> 
> As always thanks for the support, kept me writing even when I really should have stopped and rested.
> 
> Good health to you all, AzulMountain


	7. Lounge Lizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEX, finally!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back and looking forward to how you guys liked the ending. Thanks for reading and all your comments of support, AzulMountain
> 
> And always thanks to those who didn't give up on the story and are interested in reading her darker sister, Mile High Rivals. It's been fun and I hope you all are as satisfied with the end as I.

A phone rings late in the evening. Chris Argent reaches blindly through his coat pockets from his resting position on the airport lounge couch, until he finds the chirping electronic.

“Argent,” he wearily answers. It has been a strenuous few hours and he has long grown tired of answering concerned calls from friends, who have just seen the news.

“Sir, we have a location.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Deucalion,” Derek’s furious growl rumbles the man’s name in a way Stiles’ knows they share a history; a very bad one.

Stiles feels the mirrored movement at his side as the alpha twins move to flank their leader. Stiles relief from hearing Derek’s voice again, alive in this world, is quickly diminishing. Panic blossoms anew in his chest, choking him on the vile taste of his fear that these monsters will hurt Derek, the negotiations are a smokescreen to get the Hale to put down his guard.

“Buttercup, relax.” Boyd’s voice eases through the tension in the small clearing.

Stiles would like to say it helps ground him, but he is scared out of his wits. This showdown going down and it is too dark for his human senses to follow. Every noise is like a canon and his energy feels like it is going haywire; doing exactly what his captors warned him not to do. It’s going to cost him his precious cargo.

Sensing his inner turmoil, one of the twin’s places his elongated nails on the soft skin of both girls’ necks. They whimper and Stiles quakes from the clear threat trying to feel the ground beneath his frozen feet, anything that will root him to the situation and not his mounting terror.

“Cool it, Sparky. You’re making Aiden twitchy,” Deucalion murmurs in his ear.

“I don’t know how! Please, I have no idea what I’m doing. Please, don’t hurt them.” Stiles eyes close as he pleads soft puffs of white vapor, his teeth chattering through each syllable, and unconsciously he channels his energy in all directions. Whipping out, the tendrils wait for a construct belief from Stiles to form into a destructive force of his desire.

 “Stiles, look at me.  Just look at me."

"I cant see you!"

"Then listen to my voice. We’re here; everyone is safe. He won’t let them hurt you or the girls. Just calm down and everything will be fine.”

“Derek-” Stiles feels their connection and grasps desperately for the man’s thread. The lightning storm of possibilities Stiles could unleash on them all begins to dissipate. Slowly, Stiles feels his fear evaporate. But in that brief moment, the imbalance of Derek’s hostility for Deucalion floods the channel and his spark ignites, literally. A frozen stump ignites in fire; incinerating the dead wood in a flash, until the snow licks the flames and the charred remains steam in the cold night.

“Holy… No please, Deucalion, I really have no idea what just happened. Please don’t hurt them. I never meant for that to happen.” Stiles pleads with the blind man, still looking toward his remarkable accomplishment. All the werewolves watch as the last embers snuff out, except Derek, who only has eyes for Stiles.

“ _Stiles, calm yourself, now_.” Derek’s alpha voice commands his panic gone. He is this dark wolf’s instrument. The sync settles and Stiles feels their combined anger dampen, until it is a small kindle matching red halo in Derek’s steel blue eyes.

“Congratulations on your incredible control Derek. It can’t be more than a week, since your upgrade. Of course, it probably has to do with your new found mate. Incomplete bonding and still so powerful, I envy your find.”

“Our mate,” another familiar voice joins the conversation.

Stiles senses a shift in the shadows and the man steps into the showdown. “Peter!”

Peter’s eyes trace warmly over Stiles and then search to find his little girl. Lydia gives a heart wrenching whine, but remains motionless under the twin’s claw. Peter growls at the twin. His eyes igniting in fury for the alpha’s threat to his strawberry-blonde princess.

“I see.” Deucalion studies Peter’s face closely, and then his leer shifts to Stiles. “Your eyes are a remarkable shade of orange, Peter. Unique, among wolves, but so is a shared claim on a mate; a human no less. But I can see his Spark is powerful and would burn out just one wolf partner.” The alpha leans into Stiles shoulder and drags a long breath to scent him.

“He’ll need all the attention, this one is insatiable.”

Stiles breath hitches when the man’s warm nose and his fanged mouth drag up his neck. “Very sensitive. Where ever did you find him? It's like you plucked him out of thin air,” Deucalion rumbles against his frozen skin. The alpha’s hot breath somehow is able to produce goose bumps on his goose bumps. He tries to twist away from the sharp press of the man’s fang, but can only whine helplessly.

Derek has to head-lock Peter, before the man attempts to rip into Deucalion. The younger Hale clamps a hand on the back of Peter’s neck in a calming gesture. “He is baiting us, _calm down_ ,” Derek’s alpha voice growls at his uncle. When Peter’s temper is back in check, the true strategist and Second in Derek’s pack, is ready to play Deucalion’s match and win.

“The Hales have only ever been an intriguing pack to watch. But, now you are something more. The Hales and a Spark are powerful; enough so, that they could easily be considered a threat.”

Peter’s ice blue eyes fill with just a hint of fury, but he remains stoic and begins, “Your desire for a Hale in your pack is why we stand before you short of Laura and my wife.”

“Ennis was lost us as well,” one of the twins argues.

“Ennis has been lost to you for over ten years. Do not pretend to grieve for him. Crappy father as he was, he was still their father. He is dead because your words wormed into her head. As a scorned hookup, not even a lover, she took them all from us.”

“Kali went against my wishes, when she sought revenge against Laura.” Deucalion calmly states, but there is a dark madness in his tone as he points this out.

“Our packs’ alliance was broken by your pack mate at the cost to us alone. Kali survived the car crash and ours didn’t.”

“Had Ennis returned with the Hale and her pups, none would have died in the first place.” Deucalion’s grip around Stiles’ neck tightens momentarily. Stiles gulps and the man’s nail nicks him. But Stiles doesn’t react to the pain, he’s too busy trying to make sense of their heated conversation. It sounds like Erica and Isaac’s mother and father died in a car accident; along with another woman, who was Lydia’s mother and Peter’s wife. Stiles can understand how insensitive his comment about ‘flying being safer than driving,’ was when the Hales had just lost precious people. ‘Flying isn’t as safe as I thought, considering I just survived falling out of a plane, before it crashed.’

“That was never part of the marriage pact. Even if they had been mates, Laura was our alpha, her offspring are a part of our pack. Ennis told us he would not return to you, ever.”

Deucalion’s eyes glow red. “Then his betrayal and their deaths are collateral for his own selfishness and disobedience to me. It seems Kali’s death for defying my orders was unwarranted.”

Derek roars with anger, “She was mine to kill!”

“Too late, Alpha Hale. But killing subordinates does present its own inconveniences, such as pack numbers, and brings us to today’s topic for negotiation,” Deucalion looks briefly to the side and smirks. “Ah, Derek, your tragic life has taught you to move on from loss fast. No use grieving lost pack members when you can make new ones. A true man of my own vision; except, unlike you, I have the intelligence to stay away from the Argents. Kate apparently did less damage to your psyche than I thought; if you’d welcome another huntress into your pack.”

Allison Argent and a stumbling Scott McCall appear at the edge of the dark woods. Behind them Stiles' human ears can pick up the disgruntled grumbling of Isaac dragging a whining Jackson through the woods. The frozen snow squeaks as Jackson slips down the last embankment and spins into the clearing followed by the silent and far more graceful preteen and Cora Hale.

“Huntress?” Stiles murmurs, truly lost by his boss’ relation to these strange werewolves. Their behavior earlier would explain a troubled past, but what does this alpha mean. He can see a flop of messy hair leaning heavily against the woman. ‘Oh thank god, Scott, he is alive.’

“Why the fuck did you drag me out here, you bitch? We have to wait with the plane. Not follow your crazy cannibal family into the woods! ” Jackson nervously peers around the shadowed woods and spots the glowing eyes of the four alphas.

“Holy shit!” Jackson tries to scramble back, but Cora grabs him and slams him against the tree trunk.

“Shut up! Stay here.” Cora roars at the co-pilot. Jackson screams in pain, still injured from the plane crash, but remains still.

“Excellent, we are all here. Grizzly circumstances and all, congratulations on not dying, but let’s begin. I need numbers and the solution for Ennis’ failure and my desire for Hale blood, comes in the form of their children. It is a simple exchange. Give me Ennis’ children in place of my subordinates’ deaths or your mate dies, along with the cubs.”

“He was Hale. Your claim over his offspring is baseless. You had to have known his bond with you was weak, if not severed, and yet you allowed Kali to destroy our pack’s happiness. You took our alpha! You are in the wrong. Release my pack.” Derek growls ignoring Deucalion’s claws puncturing lightly into Stiles’ neck.

A fierce will to protect the pups takes over Stiles. “You will never have them. I’d rather die, than let them go with a monster like you.”

“Stilinski, what the fuck? You should be dead. Whatever, hurry up and give them what they want, so we can get back to the plane. I’m the captain, you all should be following my orders!” Jackson snaps out at the shadowed figures, but his words are trembling with self-doubt in the face of this nightmare.

“Shut the hell up Jackson,” Scott’s tired voice yells at the other pilot and he lets his arm drape over the shoulder of the preteen boy in support. “We won’t let you have the kids. Give us Stiles and the girls and we will let you leave alive.”

“Derek, your beta was bitten -what less than twenty minutes ago- and he is already making poor decisions for you. No discipline. Argents run tighter ships than this. Isn’t that right huntress?” Deucalion sneers at the brunette woman.

Allison surprises them all when she twists the nozzle of the flare gun she holds, revealing the search and rescue tool to be a fake. Instead a high caliber semi-automatic hand gun takes its place. “Alpha, it’ll be McCall. My pact with the Hales was as an Argent, and I think we can overlook this minor detail as I formally declare myself Hale. I pledge my allegiance to Derek Hale, to use my skills in defense of his entire pack, should he accept me and my wolf’s bane bullets.” She never removes her eyes from the threat ahead of her, but can feel every werewolf watching her carefully. Scott, Jackson and Stiles all blink dumbly at her, not understanding the significance of the head to the world’s most influential hunting family aligning with werewolf pack.

A tense silence fills the small clearing. All the wolves watch the huntress warily knowing she presents a serious danger and Deucalion doesn’t hold all the cards anymore.

“Derek…” Cora nervously watches the indecision in her alpha’s eyes. Derek of all of them would never forgive her as Peter has. The mere fact that she still possesses such a weapon means she has broken her promise to their family. “Don’t do it.”

“Do it, Derek.” Peter clearly speaks to his alpha with conviction.

“I accept you.” Three simple words, and all heartbreak of their shared past is buried.

“Good, because I have back up and they are already here.”

A thumping noise of a rotor spinning through the crisp air makes all the wolves focus on the sky. Then Stiles hears the distinct sound of a helicopter and follows the werewolves’ gaping stares to see the spotlight of a black military grade helicopter flying right for them. The occupants in the clearing are blinded by the bright light and try to break for the shadows of the thick woods.

Stiles is dragged by Deucalion’s cruel grip several steps, but they abruptly stop when five armed men in combat gear repel onto the frozen ground in front of them cutting off their path. 

“Daddy!”

“Darling, I thought I lost you! If your tracker chip hadn’t shown positive vitals, I would have died. I almost did when I saw the passenger list showing the Hales’ names. Then I find out you crashed in the heart of The Demon Wolf’s territory. I couldn’t let them find you, but I see I'm too late. We already have a bit of a situation.” Chris Argent’s warmth for seeing his daughter alive fades as the hunter assesses the tense group, noting the clear division between the packs and their hostages.

His cold glare then passes over Scott, leaning against his daughter with heavy injuries that are healing as Chris studies him. He steps forward and lifts the younger man’s shirt to see Derek’s bite, and turns his glare to the Hale alpha. “Hale,” Chris yells unnecessarily loud.

Allison quickly cuts her father off, “Stand down, Dad. He gave his permission, Scott was dying and I asked Derek to save the love of my life. He has committed no crime here.”

“You’re the love of my life, too.” Scott’s sappy comment makes Chris growl, but the adoring father knows when he’s lost a fight.

“Besides, I have allied my skills, under McCall’s name. The hunters known no longer known as Argent are with the Hales and protect those who need protecting. Hunting season is open once again, boys.” Allison’s declaration gains the surrounding men’s whooping cheer. To celebrate they click the safeties off, and train their weapons on Deucalion’s pack.

Chris grits his teeth, “We will talk about this, Allison!” He quickly chambers his own weapon, just as ready for some action after their supposedly permanent retirement from the business as the others.

“Derek, it seems the table has been leveled. I know when to cut my losses and run, but you still owe me a beta.”

“What the fuck is all this shit? Shoot them, they’re monsters and tried to eat Captain Dork over there the second the plane went down. The world will know with their disfigured carcasses and we’ll be heroes. Just try not to hit Stilinski. He owes me for saving his career and I intend to make him pay.” Jackson licks his bloody lips and leers at Stiles, who is still being held as Deucalion’s hostage.

Stiles barely remembers his deal to Jackson for knocking his arm and sending the plane dipping. It feels like so long ago. Whatever the jackass has in mind must be bad news for him. Especially, if the addled man can still remember his plans after the plane crash. Heat floods his frozen face and he sneers out, “You will not touch me, Jackson.”

“The hell I will. I’ll have you screaming for it, bitch.” Jackson has lost it completely and forgotten he is surrounded by territorial monsters, who have no intention of letting any harm come to their human pack mate or their secrets.

A roar fills the clearing, jerking the deluded co-pilot out of his fantasy. Derek’s red eyes fall over the now cowering Jackson. “I believe we’ve found an answer to our situation, Alpha Deucalion; though, his potential smells more like a lounge lizard than a wolf.”

 

* * *

 

The lock barely has clicked open when Stiles feels himself lifted from the ground and carried into the dark room. He yelps at the sudden contact, certain he was the only person in the hallway of the hotel room his airline put him up for the next few days. He struggles against the person’s hold; sure Deucalion is back for him. The alpha seemed unhappy with his meager compensation prize, after his failed negotiation.

Unknown to the aviation authorities, this small town Stiles finds himself confined to for the moment is in the center of The Demon Wolf’s territory. Stiles is very afraid the alpha has reneged on the truce and come after him to spite the Hales. Their promised protection has supposedly checked into the nicer place down the road, and can’t do a damn thing about his shadowed attacker now.

A hand grabs his chin and his frightened face is twisted into a smothering kiss. Stiles’ panic melts in relief when he tastes Peter’s familiar mouth. He pushes at the werewolf’s head, until Peter reluctantly lets up on their embrace.

Peter growls irritably, “What?”

“What do you mean _what_? You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought you were one of Deucalion’s hench-twins. What the hell are you even doing here? I thought you got the nicer digs up the street.”

“We switched rooms with Scott and Allison. Unlucky for Scott, he has to stay in a suite with Mr. Argent because we accommodated his room here for the pups.”

Poor Scott; if Mr. Argent wasn’t thrilled with him, before; he sure as hell is not, now. Introducing his future werewolf-in-law will make for awkward family events. Stiles figures, the man owes Scott something for allowing him to pursue his hunting passion once again. Hopefully, he won’t exercise that new found freedom on Scott.

Stiles lip trembles, “I…I thought you guys left me.”

His heart had fallen when the medics finally released him and found no Hales waiting for him at the hospital. The deputy that escorted him to the hotel, mentioned they had accommodations in the snazzy new place up the road. There were no messages left for him when he checked with the gruff man arming the front desk, literally, he had a shotgun in his lap and watched Stiles with an untrusted scowl. They must not get many outside folks in this part of the woods and clearly are ill fit to deal with the media circus that is just setting up to cover the disaster.

“Don’t be dramatic. You are mine… and Derek’s,” Peter reluctantly adds, “You are our mate. Derek had to get Scott out of there. The authorities wanted to interview him and Allison, but they claimed they needed the night to calm their nerves. We can’t risk exposing our secret or letting him hurt someone. We had to be sure he could handle the stress the investigators and press are sure to subject on us survivors first. Everyone will need to be told what you’ve said, so we can coordinate our stories.”

Peter’s tongue slips between Stiles’ smooth lips and sinks inside for another ravishing kiss. “We’ll just go over some more important things first.”

Peter carries him to the bed and places Stiles gently on his back. Deftly striping the remains of his clothes, Peter settles his warm naked body over Stiles. With half lidded glowing orange eyes, Peter peels Stiles’ borrowed hospital clothes off; taking time to map his mate’s skin with tiny kisses and licks. Stiles groans in pleasure. Every lost article is accompanied by sensuous touches that pull the lingering cold away from his recovering hypothermia. Delicious heat crosses their bond and Stiles can feel the last traces of his injuries fading under this man’s careful attention.

Peter’s explorations bring his mouth to Stiles groin. His fingers trace his inner thigh and up around the sex, ignoring the filling member. Raking his teeth over Stiles taut stomach and burying his nose in Stiles’ coarse pubic hair, Peter draws a long breath in. His happy sigh is drowned out by Stiles frustrated whine and tightening grip on Peter’s hair to touch him. Stiles tries to push the werewolf’s head south, but Peter is content to scratch his stubble over his soft belly and enjoy nuzzling everything in the vicinity without touching his member. Or his hole; Stiles is panting as the man’s wicked finger traces his crack, but teasingly avoids the sensitive rim.

“Peter, please.” Stiles digs his blunt nails into the man’s shoulder painfully, figuring a different tactic from his soft caresses was necessary to get Peter to touch him with more pressure and in the right spots. But Peter remains allusive.

 “Wait for it.” Peter’s eyes glow watching Stiles’ honey brown irises are blown by his pupils as arousal overwhelms his mate's body. His lust haze diffuses and Stiles finally recognizes the edge to the man’s tone, meaning Peter is just as frustrated as he.

"Wait for what?"

Then it comes.

And it comes in the sound of splintering wood as the automatic door lock snaps under the pressure of an alpha werewolf.

“What part of _wait for me_ , don’t you understand, Peter?” Derek growls shutting the door behind him and fumbling roughly with the thin link lock. Giving up when he realizes he’s pulled it from the wall in his temper.

“Ah, but Derek, I didn’t _touch_ him yet. All the appropriate pieces are primed and ready. Stiles’ begging state can attest to that.”

“Derek!” Appropriately, Stiles whines like his salvation has finally come and his limbo of tense denial has ended.

His anger forgotten, Derek’s growl turns to pleasure for Peter’s gift. Derek swoops down to claim Stiles’ with a biting kiss. Stiles mews as Peter finally grips his rigid cock. The embarrassing sound is deliciously swallowed by Derek as they tangle tongues in a searing lip war. 

Derek peels away from Stiles and quickly sheds his leather coat and gray shirt, revealing his ripped chest with a trail of dark hair leading down to a very large bulge in the man’s pants. Long fingers hook the low hip riding jeans and then release the clasp. Stiles drools when Derek’s naked leaking cock pushes past his undone zipper.

‘He was commando the entire time, oh gods.’ Stiles howls as the feast for his eyes is scrambled by his tactile senses overwhelming his vision. The feeling of Peter’s hot mouth slipping over his dick and sinking to the base forces him to shut his eyes in ecstasy. The bed dips on his side and Derek settles in to join their explorations, latching on to Stiles neck and rubbing his stubble like Peter raw over Stiles’ skin.

“Your mouth, Stiles.”

Derek wiggles up on to his knees and carefully collects his mate’s head to prop it on his thick thigh and spreads his legs, bumping Stiles in the face with his heavy cock. Tilting Stiles’ mouth to his aching member, Derek grabs himself and beats his cock against his mate’s outstretched tongue. He traces the engorged head over the younger man’s full lips. A trail of pre-cum dots Stiles’ mouth and Stiles slips his tongue out to collect the offering, while giving teasing licks to the glans. Stiles takes a moment to savor the taste and decides he wants more. He reaches up to collect the offered dick and pumps it a few times, collecting the beads with his tongue, before leaning in to trace the taut vein from Derek’s balls to the tip with his tongue. Hot wet trail traced again, he finally gives Derek the mouth he desires and slides the pulsing cock into his cavern, pushing his tongue into all the sweet spots on his way down. Savoring Derek’s grunts as much as the man’s taste. He matches the slow rhythm Peter has set on his own member and together they bring themselves off.

Stiles finishes much quicker than Derek and Peter; thanks to Peter’s sly finger breaching his hole and striking his prostate. He curls forward instinctively as he tenses, hips straining against Peter’s grip and shoots into the man’s waiting mouth. His floating moment is interrupted as Peter stands at the edge of the bed and pulls Stiles legs together. He slots his hot dick into the space pumping across Stiles balls.

Stiles is a bit too sensitive to handle Peter’s rough thrusts, but it only takes Peter another minute to reach his peak and shoot his load onto Stiles stomach. Stiles groans around Derek’s shaft as Peter smears his ejaculate onto his skin, finding all the younger man’s creases to bury his scent. 

Not to be forgotten Derek caresses Stiles’ cheek turning him from Peter. Stiles suctions his swollen red lips around the member and returns to his enthusiastic devotion of Derek’s cock. Derek is close and begins fucking Stiles mouth. The younger man relaxes into the motions, allowing Derek to take his need from him; opening his throat to the rough treatment. He tries to keep his breaths timed well, but Derek’s pace becomes erratic and he ends up gagging around the man’s dick. The werewolf notices his distress through his lust haze and removes his dick with an obscene pop from Stiles mouth.

Peter eases his coughs with soothing motions over his back as Derek pants in need at his side. Stiles recovers fast and turns his attention back to his dripping mate. Instead of seeking completion in his mouth, Derek leans over to kiss Stiles, tasting himself in Stiles lips. Grasping his twitching cock, Derek jerks himself off, and spews his seed onto Stiles’ face.

“Damn it, Derek,” Peter complains, when some of Derek’s ejaculate hits his shoulder.

Derek doesn’t even acknowledge Peter’s complaint. Instead he collects his spunk from Stiles cheek, smears it into his mate’s chest and neck like Peter. When Derek finishes he leans in for another soft kiss, panting his exertion into Stiles neck and together they tangle into a sweaty hot mess to nap, until the next round.

  

* * *

 

 

Stiles slides into the scratchy sheets and he curls his hands under his cheek. Sighing in delicious satisfaction as the warmth of his long shower is enveloped by the warm down covers.

He is alive.

He is safe.

He is loved.

And oh, is he sore.

Well satiated, thanks to the adoring attention of the two Hales. Their gentle caresses and mind blowing sex have long dissolved the exhaustion and nervous tension he has had to deal with for the hours of the grief riddled rescue operation, aviation experts interviews, prodding doctors, and insatiable press; all the while carefully avoiding mentioning anything about the supernatural and Jackson’s disappearance.

Not to forget his involvement in the arson. Stiles is not sure he can ever forgive himself for willing the existence of the untraceable spark that ignited the metal tomb. The jet fuel soaked site was the shining answer to covering up the werewolves involvement and explain their abandonment of the wreckage. Now investigators will be lucky if they can identify any of the remains, let alone discover that the co-captain’s corpse is missing among the dead.

He wiggles his feet across the cheap sheets and curls his leg around a hairy leg, sliding the rest of his body flush to warm body next to his to put the day’s images out of his head. The steam from the bathroom door wafts into the cool hotel room and a dripping wet Derek lifts the covers to join him. Sandwiched comfortably between his mates, Stiles nuzzles into the naked man’s shoulder to sleep.

He is wrecked. He feels the contended glow of his bonds with Peter and Derek, soothe away the rest of his worried thoughts. His worries will still be with him in the morning. Now that his best friend is a werewolf and he is suddenly in a very committed relationship with two relative strangers, he has plenty to think about. But he manages to drift to sleep nestled between the pillars of his soul.

Or at least until two children crash through the busted door and launch themselves onto the bed and land heavily on him.

“Cora, what the hell?!” Derek’s exasperated voice growls out.

Isaac, shuffles in sedately and squishes into the tousled bed snuggling between Derek and Stiles. Stiles is thankful that he put on his boxers before slipping into the bed. Two little lumps snuggle under the covers and pop their tiny heads out. Erica is sprawled across his chest and Lydia is tucked into his shoulder, but resting on Peter’s chest.

“You had your fun; now it’s Boyd and my alone time. You’re not the only couple, er… threesome that gets to have life affirming sex tonight. It’s your turn to puppy sit.”

Derek’s grumble is muffled by Isaac’s fluffy hair. The tight weave of cuddled bodies on the queen bed settles down and Cora shuts the broken door behind her. Stiles embarrassed-laugh is joyous.

“Be quiet Buttercup, I’m sleepy,” Erica drawls out.

A great sense of peace and well being sends them all to sleep. No matter what tomorrow may bring, Stiles’ horrible day has long ended.

 


End file.
